Ephemeral
by MMCCCAA
Summary: After the loss of his hearing, can a deaf Estel still fulfill his destiny? AU. [Complete]
1. Prologue : 2939

1829  
BS  
Tuesday, December 30, 2003  
Saturday, July 17, 2004

Disc: Lord of the  Rings and all its characters, places, plot, etc. belong to other people. Too many to list them all. No infringement intended. Not claiming it as my own . . . not that it really matters. -sigh-  
Warn: Ark! Trauma in this chapter. A bit of drama and angst. AU-ness, of course.  
Note: Hah ha! Oh ho oho ho. Umm . . . hahaha. It's just one of those fics. Hahaha.  
Also, the prologue sucks. I am aware of this. The rest of it is better, I promise.  
All dialogue is in Sindarin, unless otherwise noted. 

Ephemeral

prologue 

He was angry and wanted to let everyone know just how much he resented being left behind. In only a few minutes, his brothers were going to leave him to go on a hunting trip. When he had asked to go along, they had laughed at him and told him that he was too young. They'd rubbed his hair on his head and told him to wait a few years. His father had merely looked at him in a long, unsettling stare and then promised him that he would kill his fair share of orcs in the coming years.

But the 'coming years' weren't there now, and he would have to attend his writing lessons while his brothers were out having fun -- riding horses, using weapons, and making their father proud of them. It wasn't fair, and his bottom lip was curled over in a pout. He kicked the dust under his feet with hard thrusts of his new boots. The cloud of dirt and dust that arose met his best sinister glare without hesitation and then dispersed as he continued walking.

"Oh, Estel. Do not be upset with us or Father." One of his brothers appeared at his side, walking silently and peering down at the eight-year-old with barely-concealed amusement.

"I'm not mad." Estel replied and crossed his arms in front of his chest and bit his lip.

His brother bit back a smile, then looked to his right. Estel followed his gaze to where the horses were being saddled. His other brother was attaching gear to the saddle bags and directing the grooms where to bring the horses. The twin on his left switched directions subtly and Estel found himself following. "There is Elladan," he said. "Come hither and ...bid us farewell. We will return in a fortnight from hence, and then the three of us shall begin improving your swordskills."

Estel made his eyes narrow as he had seen his father do when his brothers were in trouble. It didn't have the desired effect, however, because Elrohir started chuckling. "All right." Estel acquiesced. He started to speak again, but Elladan hailed them and they walked in silence until reaching the stable.

Elladan picked up Estel and held the squirming boy in one arm as he used his other to tickle his stomach. Estel squirmed and laughed while kicking wildly with his feet. The mare they were standing next to danced to the side uneasily. Elladan stopped his assault and let the boy slide to the ground. He hunched over, gasping for breath. "Ell -- Ella -- Elladan!"

The twins laughed at him and ruffled his hair. He stared indignantly and then aimed a kick at his brother's shin. Laughing, Elladan dodged out of the way. He reached for his brother to pick him up and tickle him again, but momentum carried the boy forward and he landed head-first against the young mare's legs.

Startled, she instinctively reared. Elrohir immediately reached to grab her mane and she bucked outward, bringing her front hooves down hard onto the ground. Estel, lying under the horse, panicked and froze, his heart beating madly in his chest. He could see the smooth chestnut barrel above him and the dark hooves moving like blurs of black above his head. He could hear the frantic calls of his brothers -- one of them shouting for him to move while the other was trying to calm the horse.

And then the hooves were descending, and Estel knew no more.

]

It was over in mere seconds, Elrohir had reported with a soft voice as Elrond worked over his youngest. Only a few well-placed strokes of hooves against flesh, and the boy was fighting for his life. His right arm and shoulder were crushed. His ribs were broken and one of them had possibly punctured his lungs -- it was hard to tell at this point. Most frightening, however, were the massive wounds on Estel's head. The horse had crushed part of his skull, and he couldn't tell how much damage he had suffered. He was unresponsive and blood oozed from under the sticky blanket of his dark hair. He probed softly with his fingers, feeling for the depth of the damage.

A healer appeared at his right with a bowl of steaming hot water and another at his left with a tray of surgical tools and herbs. Elladan took a short knife and cut away the boy's clothing, revealing the bloody, bruised flesh. Chanting a healing spell as he worked, Elrond set his shoulder and bound the broken bones. He listened to the boy's breathing and felt his hand over the tight skin of his chest. To his relief, the lungs appeared to be ...working well. He wrapped the torso tightly in bandages and cleaned the cuts.

With a deep breath, he picked a long, flat razor from the tray of tools and held it in his left hand. With his other, he tore a fresh _athelas_ leaf in half. He gave one half to his son and soon the smell of the crushed plant in boiling water filled the room. He felt his head clear and saw Estel's breathing slow. He crushed the other half of the leaf in his hand and rubbed it until it formed a white paste. He smeared it on the boy's forehead. With the razor, he began cutting away the child's hair. He smoothed it over the skin and could finally see the true extent of the damage.

This was going to take some ...work.

]

The accident had happened in the early morning, and Elladan had sat outside the infirmary until late in the night before he heard word of his poor human brother. His twin sat at his side, grim-faced and eyes narrowed into slits. They'd only left once, to tell Erestor that their father wouldn't be in any meetings or meals until the situation was resolved. The chief of the counselors had appeared concerned, but carried on without their father. There had been a few messengers in and out, but they never got beyond the door. Hours seemed to crawl by, and they listened anxiously to the chimes of noon, dinner, and midnight.

He blamed himself for it. If he hadn't been playing with the boy -- trying to cheer him -- then it wouldn't have happened. He had known that his mare was skittish. He had known that Estel was too young to be around her. He hadn't listened to his good sense, and now the human child was suffering it. He felt a cool hand against his knee and turned to see his twin touching him while staring straight ahead.

"Did you see him?" Elrohir asked, his voice disconsolate. "When all the hair was cut away --"

He didn't need to answer. There wasn't truly a question.

His brother was about to speak again when the door to the inner chamber opened. They looked apprehensively as their father stepped out. His face was grave and pale. His eyes were very tired and very worried. There was blood on the corner of his sleeve, although his hands had been washed clean. He looked at them long.

"He is gone," Elladan said with sudden clarity. He heard Elrohir inhale sharply next to him.

Their father shook his head. "Not yet." A soft light was glowing on his face. "He is not awake, but there is little time to say your goodbyes."

Elladan felt the blood drain from his face and swell into a lump in his throat. His chest seemed to be constricting painfully. "There is naught that you can do?" He asked his father as he and his twin rose to their feet and advanced toward the door.

His father shook his head grimly and followed his sons into the room.

The sight of Estel lying on the bed made his heart tremble. The boy's head had been completely shaved and enveloped with white gauze. His skin was thin and nearly clear. Elladan could see the blood vessels running under it in a spider web of blue. His bottom lip was split, and he could see the thin layer of _athelas _paste smeared over it. His chest was bound, and his arms and shoulder were in a tight splint. His legs were under a thin blanket. His head was propped on pillows. His eyes were soundly closed.

The twins were instantly at his side, staring intently at the crushed form of their little brother. Dimly, Elladan heard his father chant an incantation of health.

[

But Estel didn't die. And days passed with the boy in a deep sleep. There was little thought that he would live. Elrond stood by his side, murmuring healing spells and stroking the boy's forehead. Well-wishers came and went, sending farewells to the boy and condolences to his adoptive family. Elladan sat by his side, holding his hand and thinking despondently of the poor boy's torment, when he felt a twitch against his fingers.

At the movement, he became alert and looked at the still figure of his poor baby brother. There was nothing. Then -- yes! His fingers twitched. "Father!" he shouted and turned to Elrond who was on the opposite side of the room, pouring miruvor into a glass.

He turned and then sped to the boy's side. "What is it, my son?" He looked down at Estel. "Has there been some change?"

Elladan looked at him with shining eyes. "Father, Estel's hand is moving!"

"Estel. Estel, my son, can you hear me?" Elrond asked and took the boy's hand in his own. There was no response for several long seconds, then the child squeezed weakly. Face alight with delight, Elrond squeezed in return.

"Father," the boy whispered. He slowly opened his swollen eyes and looked around the room. His father smiled, rhapsodic.

"We are here for you, Estel," Elladan said.

"I was . . . so scared, Father." His voice cracked as he spoke and he started coughing which made his chest sing in pain.

Elladan stood from the bedside. "I will get you some water."

The boy coughed again and then moaned with the pain in his ribs. "Could I have some water, please?" he asked.

Elrond slid his gaze from Estel's face to Elladan's and they shared a long look. "Estel, my son," Elrond said. "You worried us all." He stroked his hand along the boy's face. "How do you feel?"

No answer. Estel stared at him intently. Elladan was still halfway across the room and was still watching the scene.

"Estel, can you hear me?"

Estel lay quietly on the bed. His eyes were as wide as the swollen skin around them would allow, and his face was tilted upward. "Father?" he questioned.

Elrond's eyes slid to a close and he remained in that frozen position for several long minutes. Elladan poured the water, mixed with a spoonful of miruvor, and brought it to Elrond to give the boy. He left the room at a sprint.

----

Next update: Monday, August 9, 2004


	2. Chapter One : 2940

2129  
BS  
Saturday, July 17, 2004  
Saturday, July 17, 2004

Disc: Lord of the Rings and all its characters, places, plot, etc. belong to other people. Too many to list them all. No infringement intended. Not claiming it as my own . . . not that it really matters. -sigh-  
Warn: Drama. AU-ness.  
Note: Hah ha! Oh ho oho ho. Umm . . . hahaha. It's just one of those fics. Hahaha.

Ephemeral

chapter one

He awoke to the warmth of sunlight on his face. It felt miraculously good, and he marveled at the beauty of such a sensation. "_The Valar are truly amazing,"_ he thought. _"They are able to make such glorious gifts and give them to so undeserving of people."_ He stretched lazily and swung his legs onto the floor. There had been a chill in the night, and he had shivered for hours under his blankets, so the sun felt exceptionally delightful. He stalked across the room, his bare feet hitting the stone floors and scraping against his callused soles.

He stopped in front of a window and peered outside. A birch tree grew next to the house, its long white branches extended high into the air. Small blue birds perched on its thin branches. He saw them open and close their mouths. They hopped from branch to branch, mouths moving. He could almost remember the sound -- had never paid it much mind when he had been younger. He looked up to the rushing waterfalls and sighed. It had been the comfort of his youth, a steadfast sound that he associated with home. Gone now, he stared at the white and gray water with insubstantial aloofness. The power was lost -- the intimidating presence was lost -- without the roar of the falls.

He turned from the window and stretched. The nightgown pulled up to around his knees, exposing them to the warm sunlight. He lazily untied the lacing and it fell from his shoulders onto the floor in a soft white pool. He pulled his raiment from the trunk at the foot of his bed and tied all of the appropriate laces around his waist and chest. He slipped his feet into thin, small slippers and ran a brush through his long black locks. It was good to have hair again. After his accident, he had awoken to find his head bald and his skull wrapped in bandages. Now, it had grown past his shoulders and was half way down his back. He twirled in front of his mirror, watching the way his hair and blue robes shifted around him. He smiled at his reflection and then darted out the door.

Everything was surreal now. His shoes against the stairs made no noise, and he fancied himself like his Elven family. He had discovered quickly, though, that just because he could not hear his sounds did not mean that he did not make them. He wound through the halls and found the kitchen. There, he grabbed a roll from the table and stuffed it into his mouth. His sister was at the table, delicately eating toast and eggs. She smiled at him warmly and motioned for him to sit beside her. He liked Arwen -- she was the prettiest girl he'd ever seen! He didn't know her too well; she had only been home for seven months. She spent a lot of time with him, playing games and teaching him to write numbers. She was good at writing, and no one else seemed to have the time to teach him. He enjoyed writing and often wrote little poems -- which he never showed anyone -- and read from simple books in the library.

There were many books in the library that he enjoyed reading. He was still new to the written word, so he only had access to the undemanding ones. Small books of poetry and cook books were his favorites to read and it was his favorite pastime. He could do little else. He had been afraid to go near the horses, and he could not play games like normal children could. He couldn't listen to the music that the Elves played, nor could he sing. Well, he could sing, but not being able to hear the music made him less able than he had been before. The library afforded him a place to dwell where he could pass the day and not be in anyone's way. He would miss it when he was gone.

Arwen was smiling at him warmly from her place next to him on the table. She spread jam over her toast and then broke it in half. She handed part of it to Estel, then delicately ate the other side. She tapped her finger against his shoulder to get his attention, then pushed her palms against each other and slowly opened them as she would a book. She kept her eyes on him so she would not miss his response.

He nodded quickly. He had to pack what little he was taking with him, swipe food from the kitchens, and then find a way to sneak from the valley without being caught. He knew why he was leaving, although he did not want to. He had planned this day for months, waiting for the best time and hoping that he would have reason to stay. After his accident, he had spent many months recovering in bed. He had grown weak, had lost muscle. Arwen arrived three months into his recuperation, and had spent many days helping him learn how to walk again and teaching him his letters. His brothers had grown completely distant and after his initial recovery, they had seldom seen him. When coincidence brought them together, Elladan and Elrohir had been grim-faced and uncomfortable. Elrond had explained that they were guilt-ridden with his loss of hearing, and told him that he would discuss the problem with them. A few days after, they had sulked into his room, eyes downcast, and apologized for their lack of kind. They gave the excuse of an influx of orcs that required their attention and vowed to spend more time with him. They had yet to do so.

He did not blame them. He would not wish to be friends with someone as disabled as himself, either. They had planted the first doubt in his mind, but he did not blame them. He did not doubt that they loved him. They were kind to him, and his father still showered him with love and affection. He felt useless, though. He was a burden upon his foster family, and it should not have been their onus to bear. His father grew frustrated with him sometimes. He would ask him something -- to stand aside, or to carry a book to someone -- and would have to repeat himself several times before finally giving up and summoning a servant to do the task or moving the boy himself. Estel had grown very adapt at reading lips. As long as the person was directly in front of him and spoke slowly, he could understand simple requests. The household members were not terribly patient at times -- usually when under stress -- and tended to be bothered by the boy. When he was underfoot, they would push him out of the way. Some of them apologized for it -- he could tell for they looked guilty as they spoke. Others did not.

Sometimes he wished that the horse had just killed him.

It wasn't a common thought, and he felt guilty for thinking it. The Valar knew what they were doing and had evidently wanted him to live. He knew that his death would have made his father sad, and he did not want that. Still, it was a terrible feeling to know that no one wanted him around. He had lasted months, his heart full of doubt, since when the suspicions first entered his mind. Then, he had been stealing cakes from the kitchen when he had seen the elf-lord Glorfindel speaking to his father. Estel had learned to see his own name spoken. He knew the shape that the lips took, the length they held each pose. They were talking about him. He had lurked behind a table, watching. They had been angry and parts of their conversation had been spoken too rapidly for him to decipher. One sentence rang clear, though. It had been spoken slowly enough that he had caught every word, every angry exaggeration of the rancorous face of his beloved father. _"Whatever hope we had for him, it is lost. He shall never fulfill his destiny. All we have done for the race of Man has been in vain."_

His father had continued to love him after that, but he could not fully appreciate it, knowing that Elrond felt so horribly about it. He had decided that night, while sitting alone in his room staring at the stars outside, that he wouldn't let himself be such a disappointment. He would leave until he was fit to return. He would not be the downfall of Men. He wouldn't let his father be so disgusted with him. Over the following months, he had started filching small things from around the Last Homely House. He had taken a small bag, then extra clothing, finally a knife from the smith, and a little bottle of ink, corked, and a pen. He still needed a few leafs of paper, and food. He would take the blanket from his own bed, and his small riding cloak. He would go to the library as usual, and then leave when Arwen went for lunch. He had it timed -- she would be gone thirty minutes, then return with a tray of food for them, mostly him, to eat. Today, while she was away, he would pack in his room and then stow the bag under his bed. That night, after supper, he would take the leftover bread and meat. There was dried fruit in storage, and he would raid those shelves before his journey. His father was leaving that evening with a party to Mirkwood for several weeks. Estel was not invited. His brothers were going on the trip, and Arwen and Erestor would be running things while they were gone.

Estel would leave then, an hour after his father departed from the valley.

He grinned at Arwen as she stood up and pushed her chair under the table. He followed her actions and then took her hand as she led him down the hall to the library. He was more than capable of going by himself, but he knew that he should savor any company while he still had the opportunity. They entered the library and Arwen went immediately to a little desk in a corner. She pulled a book from the surface and brought it to him. The title was written in gold lettering over a well-worn black leather cover. _Celeblor_. She opened the first page and pointed to a name written there. He could not read it; it was written in Quenya. Still, her eyes were very awed, and there was a sad little smile on her lips. He turned the next page and looked at the first few words. The script was elegant and precise. Each letter was curved majestically and he wished that he could write like that. All of his words were scratchy and flimsy. He started reading and saw that the text was written in Sindarin. Poems, he saw and his face lit. He wandered into a corner, reading as he walked, and sat upon the floor with the book nestled in his hands.

The poems were enchanting, clever! They blended sound -- the best kind that he could hear in his mind -- with rhyme and riddles. Some were long, some were short. Some of them spelled words with the first letter of each line, and he delighted in reading them. Some had the same sound, repeated until he stumbled in his reading and had to reread constantly. He held the book close to him, unwilling to share this newfound treasure with any of his own personal demons. He saw Arwen rise from the chair in the corner where she had been reading her own tome and pat him on the shoulder as she left the room. He looked outside -- it was lunch time already! He had been reading the poems, and they never seemed to end. Chagrined, he wished that he had known about the book before, so that he could have read it all. He considered taking it with him, but then he would have stolen something that would make others angry. Everything else was of little consequence, but he could tell from the way his sister showed him the treasure that it would be missed if it were gone.

Once she was safely down the hall, he shoved the book onto a shelf -- delicately -- and sped from the room. He had to hurry if he were to pack everything before she returned. His heart was beating wildly in his chest as he left childhood behind him and fell into lies and deceit of Mankind. He was going to prove his worth to everyone.

-----

next update: Monday, August 16, 2004

Sorry for no update on the ninth. FF.N wouldn't let me log in. -.-


	3. Chapter Two : 2940

2173  
BS  
Saturday, July 17, 2004  
Monday, July 19, 2004

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all its characters, places, plot, etc. belong to other people. Too many to list them all. No infringement intended. Not claiming it as my own . . . not that it really matters. -sigh-  
Warnings: More drama. And more AU-ness.  
Notes: Hah ha! Oh ho oho ho. Umm . . . hahaha. It's just one of those fics. Hahaha.

Ephemeral

chapter two

Nightfall crept upon him quickly that night. The house had been chaotic with its Lord's trip, and he had been able to easily sneak food from the stores behind the kitchen and in the cellars. That night, there had been a large feast for his father's departure, and all had been in attendance. He had taken his normal spot next to Arwen. At one time, he had sat with his brothers, but they no longer made available that seat. Subtly slighted, he had taken second-best and learned to enjoy it. He quickly found out that Arwen felt pity for him and gave him sweets. He could even snatch them from her plate -- if he ignored his father's disapproving eye -- and she wouldn't stop him. He ate on a sugar roll as his father spoke to the crowd. He couldn't see any of it, so he didn't bother watching.

After dinner, his father saw him to bed and hugged him -- his goodbye -- and wrote a little letter in simple words and big letters telling him that he would be home at four months the latest. Estel had nodded sadly -- he would miss his father so! Then, Elrond had left to give some more instructions to Erestor and Arwen, then he would be away. Estel had wanted to see him off -- it would be the last time he would see his father for a long time. Maybe forever.

He counted the seconds in his head as soon as his father left the stable. He watched as the party of Elves and horses wound through the valley and toward the mountains. He watched until he could no longer see them, then crawled under his bed and retrieved his pack of supplies. He held the bag to his chest and performed a mental checklist of the contents. When he was satisfied that he had all he needed, he tied the bag to his back with a long piece of rope -- taken from the stable when he knew there would be no horses there -- and sat on the windowsill. He took one last look of his room, and then focused his attention on his task. He perilously teetered on the window ledge, then jumped onto the adjacent birch tree. He nearly missed -- he did miss -- but his hands managed to grab hold of a lower branch and he clung to it tightly. The tree swayed under his weight, oscillating back and forth until finally leaning toward the house. He was high in the air; the slender branches would not hold his weight for long. Palms sweating, he carefully scaled down the tree until the trunks grew wider. It was not leaning then, and he felt more secure. The wind blew gently through the valley, ruffled his hair, and made him shiver.

He lost his footing, slipped once, twice, then found his little shoe a space against the branch. He was about to move lower, when he felt his feet drop and the bark of the trunk scraped against his face and chest. He felt his heart stop beating and his blood flood with energy. He clawed for the trunk and hugged it tightly until he stopped falling. His arms were bleeding, he realized once he could breathe again. He was seven feet into the air, now. He looked up and could see his window high above him. He wrapped his hands tightly to low branch, then let his feet fall. He hung from the tree and his feet dangled in the air. He dropped onto the ground and felt the impact shake his body. Breathing hard, he stood under the tree and looked around.

No one seemed to have heard him. He didn't know how much noise he had made during his descent, but it didn't take much to rouse their attention. None appeared after several long minutes, and he reached behind his back to make sure that his pack was still there. It was, and he scurried away from the tree. He moved quickly when darting from cover to cover, and very slowly when in the open. He had his traveling cloak tightly around his shoulders, and the hood over his face. He had seen Elves wear them before, and knew that they were magically hard to see. He had studied maps diligently in the library and had a vague idea of where he should be going. East was over the mountains, then to Mirkwood. That was where his father would be, and was not an option. South led down a long expanse of mountains, and eventually came to a place called 'Hollin.' He didn't want to go that way, it seemed too long, and he knew that mountains were cold. To the north, there were no towns on the map, only mountains extending to the edge of the cloth. West seemed to be his best option. There was a road from Rivendell in that direction and it ran for many miles. He could probably walk through the ford, and if he stuck to the road, there should be few problems. He had traced the path with his finger, and it stopped at a place called 'Bree.' There, he would sell whatever he had for food, then set off toward the north. It seemed the most logical choice -- Fornost. The road went right to it!

It had occurred to him that he would be low on food when he reached Bree. He had counted the miles in his head, and it was a little over three-hundred miles from home. It would take several days, at least. When he reached Bree, he might have to do work until he replenished his provisions, then it was only ten and one hundred miles to the city in the north.

Moving stealthily from the Last Homely House, he clung to the riverbanks to avoid the road. No one stopped him and within the hour he was at the valley edge. He would have to stay on the road until he crossed the bridge over the Hoarwell, despite the risk of being caught. He had a short knife, and he thought it would be enough to fend off danger. There were Elves on watch here, he knew. He had hoped to sneak out shortly after his father's departure, but the trip down the tree had delayed him. He hadn't planned on it being so hard to climb from his window. He would have saved time by just walking out the doors, but the risk of being caught was too severe. There were _always_ people there, lurking in halls and on the corridors.

He couldn't hear if any Elf was around, so strained with his eyes to look for them. Since losing his hearing, his vision had improved, as had his smell. He would rather have had his hearing, but was grateful that he was still alive. He had gathered as much from his father's raw love and surprise when he had first awoken from his sleep. There were no Elves that he could see, and he scanned the trees above him. The moonlight was dim this night, and it cast the world into shades of purple. He saw a slight parting of the grass, and then the dark head of an Elf walking his way. He covered himself in the cloak and did not move. He could neither see nor hear the elf, and remained motionless in the fabric until he could no longer wait and peeped outside. There was no one nearby and he rose shakily to his feet.

He crossed out of the valley without being thwarted, and felt warm tears roll down his face. He had never been out of the valley since coming there as an infant. For the nine years of his life, Rivendell had been safety and he felt as though he had violated some sacred code of faith. _Don't leave the valley; the valley will protect you . . . _He couldn't remember life before Rivendell. When his mother had left him, he had found solace in the gentle hum of the river and the constant echo of the falls. When his father had stopped visiting him as a baby and he had been full of unanswered questions, Rivendell had been there for him. Later, he had learned that his father had been killed, and he had felt betrayed by the knowledge. Elrond and his brothers had been there for him, and in time he had forgotten his pain.

Now, he was alone in the world. The valley was mere feet behind him, but there was no returning.

He started down the road, moving more quickly than he would have thought possible. The road was a ribbon of moonlight winding in front of his feet. He walked quickly, the hood over his head and his fist clenched around his knife. He was terrified of being there, alone in the dark. He had studied the maps well, but they had not prepared him for the reality of travel. He was at the ford in two hours and the water looked dark in front of him. He pulled his cloak up to his shoulders and then tugged his pant legs up. He slipped off his shoes and held them in his left hand as he stepped into the water. The water was cold and he immediately jerked his toes from it. "What am I going to do?" he said aloud. It made him uncomfortable -- speaking and not being able to hear his own voice. After a moment more of hesitation, he peeled off his leggings and bunched his shirt with his cloak. Nude from the waist down, he stepped into the water again and shivered against the cold. Still holding his shoes in one hand, he tried to keep his balance on the slippery rocks. He nearly fell twice, then made it safely across. On the other side, he stood against the cold with water dripping from his chest down to his toes. He looked back solemnly across the ford to the little road that ran up to his home.

He crossed the bridge at sunup. The sun rose behind him and cast his shadow over the entire length of the bridge. He could see the rushing waters below him, feel the wood give beneath his feet. He crossed in a hurry, then sat down on the other side. There, he untied his cloak and pack, and pulled a silver cup from the bag. He dipped water from the river and drank it quickly. He chewed on a piece of meat that was left from the night's feast, and swallowed it with more water. His legs ached and his feet were sore. He rubbed his soles for several minutes, then tugged his shoes over his slightly swollen feet and retied his pack. He donned the cloak and started walking again. The road was hard on his feet, but it was too slow to walk through the wilds around him. He walked steadily until noon -- or, at least it looked like noon because the sun was directly overhead of him and stifled him terribly until he thought he would collapse. His pace lagged in the heat and he nearly removed his cloak. He kept it on, though, because he didn't want to carry it. He stopped a few times on the roadside to relieve himself, and stopped altogether when a herd of deer sprang into the road. They crossed in a mighty leap and Estel was awed by them. He remained still long after they passed, then shook himself as if to wake from a daze.

He walked until nightfall, then turned off the road and found a space between trees where he sat and drank water. Then, he curled onto the forest floor and wrapped himself tightly in his cloak. He rubbed the small silver brooch between his fingers and thought despairingly of home. He slept well that night, for he could not hear the noises of the forest and could not be frightened by wolf-howls or night-birds.

Awaking in the morning at sunrise, he dusted dirt from his clothing and stretched. His muscles were sore and every step brought pain shooting through his legs. He ate dried fruit and drank more of his water. He hoped to find a lake or spring somewhere where he could refill his canteen, and kept his eyes open for any brush he knew grew around water. He sighed to himself and stepped onto the roadside. He took long looks up and down the road, then started his journey again. He did not have the sense of righteousness this morning. The road loomed dark before him and he felt more and more miserable with every step. In the opposite direction, his home was lying quiet and peaceful in the valley. Past Rivendell, his father and his brothers were journeying eastward to Mirkwood, no doubt enduring many of the same inconveniences of traveling. He hardened his resolve and pressed onward to the west.

----

next update: Monday, August 23, 2004


	4. Chapter Three : 2940

2222  
BS  
Monday, July 19, 2004  
Monday, July 19, 2004

Disc: Lord of the Rings and all its characters, places, plot, etc. belong to other people. Too many to list them all. No infringement intended. Not claiming it as my own . . . not that it really matters. -sigh-  
Warn: Drama, and ooh . . . angst. AU-ness.  
Note: Hah ha! Oh ho oho ho. Umm . . . hahaha. It's just one of those fics. Hahaha.

Ephemeral

chapter three

He continued walking in much the same fashion for seven days out of Rivendell. Each morning he woke to find less and less of his food remaining. Traveling had been rough for Estel. He hadn't counted on rain, and when the downpour started, he had scrambled for shelter under the boughs of large trees. He had set up his silver cup to catch rainwater, for he had yet to find a spring, and the taste had been terrible. It had rained completely the whole night, and the morning sunlight had brought a shimmer to the world. He had been unable to sleep that night, and the next morning was tired. Shortly out of Rivendell he had come to a small forest. The 'Trollshaws,' if he remembered his map correctly. He had strayed from the beaten road, and went looking for berries and came across a small cave. Feeling bold, he entered and was amazed by the vast treasures that lay inside. He grabbed a handful of gold coins and a shimmering necklace, then ran from the cave when he smelled a very foul odor drifting his way. He climbed to the top of a tree and stared down intently as four large creatures entered the cave. They were terrible to look at, and he was too terrified to sleep. He had spent the night watching them and in the morning they had disappeared.

He ran the entire day when the sun appeared. He left the forest behind and the road was soft against his feet from the rain. He stopped only once to eat, and he chewed the apple without tasting it. He was out of water, and didn't know what he would do until he could find more. While stopped, he looked at the necklace and wondered why he had stolen it. Not finding an answer in himself, he thrust it to the bottom of his bag, under his blanket, and then counted the gold coins in his hands. He had never seen coins like them before, with such odd pictures on them and weird writing. Still, gold was gold, and he debated what to do with them. Eventually, he slipped off his shoes and put three gold pieces in each one, then put his feet back inside. It felt different, but it raised the arch of his foot and his skin no longer rubbed against the shoe. That night, he climbed in a tree and slept there, afraid.

The next morning, he awoke to find a clean, floral scent lingering in the air. Below his tree were footprints, moving in a straight line, barely noticeable. He spent that day crawling through the wilds, picking berries from bushes and picking out which were poisonous and which seemed safe to eat. He did not travel much that day, only five miles, but he ate better than he had in days. The berries were moist in his mouth and they took his mind off of his lack of water. He was too frightened to travel at night, so he took shelter under a mass of tree roots. He slept lightly and the next morning walked on the road again. He stopped at the evening to eat and discovered that his wrap of food was empty. He was thirsty -- his throat was dry and his head aching from the lack of fluids. He knew that he would have to do something soon. He didn't know what he could do, though. Still, his resolve strengthened his step and straightened his back against the wind.

Two days later, he had yet to find any water. He was weak and weary. He was nearing collapse when he caught the scent of water. He staggered forward and found the small spring. He drank from it with his hands and swallowed as much as he could with his swollen mouth. He collapsed next to the spring and slept, too exhausted to move away from it. He awoke that afternoon, and felt more rejuvenated than he had in days. He drank again from the spring, and then refilled his canteen to the cork. Then, he spotted an apple tree growing near the spring of water. He stared at it for many minutes before spotting fruit hanging heavily from the middle branches. It was late in the season and he was grateful that the tree had any apples. The higher fruit had been carried away by birds, and the low-hanging apples had been raided by forest animals. He climbed the branches and picked as many apples as he could fit into his upturned shirt and his bag on the ground below. He ate from one as he climbed and his mouth delighted in the taste. Shirt full, he descended and sat underneath the gnarled tree limbs. Many of the apples were half-rotten, and he ate the better parts first and then discarded the bad. He packed several apples into his bag, wrapped tightly with the cloth that had held his food before. He drank more water, this time from his silver cup, and then gathered all of his provisions.

The apple tree shone radiant in the setting sun -- like a gift from the Valar. He turned from it after a moment of quiet awe, then went back to the road. He didn't like traveling at dusk; the sun was directly in his eyes. He stopped after a mile and turned to the side of the road. Dark around him, he climbed into a fir tree and slept the night in an ethereal sleep. In his sleep, he dreamed that he was home and his father was reading aloud from an ancient book in the library. Estel dreamed of sound, and he could hear his father's words spoken clearly. Then his dream shifted and his sister was in Elrond's study, bent over his desk. She was writing on parchment, her face pinched with some emotion that Estel could not name. Then, his dream shifted for a final time and a woman stood against a cliff, her straight ebony hair blowing in the breeze. A dark-colored horse stood at her side, emblems hanging from its saddle in the shape of a white horse against a blue banner. She smiled sadly and then he remembered no more of his dream.

The next morning marked his fifteenth day of travel. His dream saddened him, and he thought wistfully of home. He wondered what Arwen thought of his disappearance. Surely, they knew that he was gone. _Were they looking for him?_ he wondered. Or was he free to leave any time he wished? He rose with the sun and drank from his canteen. He removed an apple from his bag and ate it while he walked. By noon, he could see a large shadow looming ahead of him. As he walked, he realized it was a large mountain. On the top, he could see shapes reaching into the sky. The peak was imposing, and he shuddered under its watchful presence. He stopped that night and sat in the long shadow of the hill. There was little cover, and no trees that he could climb, so he slept under the lee of a hill. In the long stretches of dark, before sleep came to him, he lay thinking about what he would do once he got to Bree. He would have to buy food, and plenty of it, for his journey north to Fornost. He found himself grateful for taking that treasure. This way, he would not have to sell anything that mattered to him -- anything that he would need.

He awoke before dawn the next morning. He rose and stretched, ate another apple, and swallowed a mouthful of water. The sky was dark with thunderstorms, but he could see thin lines of yellow traced through the clouds where the sun was rising. Rain fell within the hour, a soft mist that covered the land and brought fog heavily onto the road. He bundled his cloak around him, fighting off the chill. He was close to the mountain -- 'Weathertop,' he remembered -- although he could not see it. As he pressed on, the rain grew heavier. He walked stiffly, his shoulder aching and his ribs reminding him of a long-ago pain. He stopped to a sudden halt when he saw hoof prints in the road. The rain was heavy there, so they were undoubtedly fresh. He felt his pulse quicken with this knowledge. For more than two weeks, he had not seen anyone on the road. Now, there were several horsemen right above him. He stopped walking and stared at the prints in the mud. A sudden fear gripped him, told him to get off the road and get away from that area.

Lightning flashed across the sky. He knew that there would be thunder, and was grateful that he could not hear it. A second later, he felt an intense vibration shake through his body. He pulled from the road, and walked over open grasslands. By noon, the fog had lifted and the rain was drenching. He could see little in front of him, and despaired that he had lost his way from the road. He turned unconsciously to the right and came again to the wide road. He stopped suddenly as he felt an odd sensation creep along his skin. He looked up suddenly and caught sight of a dark figure ahead of him. It was a short man on a horse, a hood hiding his features. Beside him were two men on foot. He stopped walking and looked at them for a moment. His heart was beating fast in his chest, and he turned quickly to run the other way. Behind him, three men on horseback waited. He turned to the north and started running. Within seconds, he felt something hard hit his back. He fell onto the muddy earth, and coughed out the filth in his mouth. He rolled onto his back to see the men above him, leering at him. He tried to rise, but one of them held him in place with a large, muddy boot on his thin chest. The man was speaking to him, revealing missing and yellow teeth with each word.

One of the other men hoisted him into the air and spat onto his face as he shouted something to the others. A footman came to his side and ripped the brooch from his cloak. He held it triumphantly in the air and gave a shout. Highwayman, he realized. Estel could not understand what they were saying. He had learned to read lips for things spoken in Sindarin, but these Men did not speak Sindarin. His cloak had torn from the force of the pull, and it fell from his shoulders and onto the ground. The Men saw his pack and cut the rope that attached it to him. They dug through it, sneering at his apples and savagely biting them. They spat chunks of the fruit as they talked among themselves. They threw his blanket aside, discarding it into the mud. They took his silver cup, the bottle of ink, and his short knife. The pen lay broken on the ground. When everything was removed, the shining necklace was revealed and they clutched it greedily. The men then turned to him and took the canteen from the little belt around his waist. They drank from it, then threw it absently to the ground.

Estel was crying, and he hadn't even realized it. The tears fell from his eyes and ran down his cheeks and into his mouth. He tasted blood there and realized he had cut his lips while falling. The men shoved him roughly to the ground, and he felt fierce blows rain onto his back. He felt something burn in his chest, and realized that they were kicking him. Lighting flashed overhead, and he huddled to himself as the blows didn't stop. The rain was harder now, washing him from head to toe. It was a cold rain, and it continued long after his attackers rode away with his belongings. He cried as the rain hit him, stinging the fresh cuts on his back. He lay there for some time, sobbing until he ran out of tears. "I want my father," he said as loudly as he could manage. "I want to go home!"

The rain did not stop, and he was colder than he ever had been in his life. He rose to his knees, and felt a sharp pain in his ankle. He looked at it and saw that it was an angry violet color. Not being able to walk, he crawled around the area, picking up anything that the robbers had left. His chest ached with every breath and he longed to just lie down and sleep until he woke in his bed, warm at home. He could not, he knew, The cloak was soaked, useless until it dried. The blanket was wet, and he tried to fold it, but could not. He stuffed it into his bag and wrapped a piece of his cloak around his wrist as he crawled through the mud. He could feel the gold pieces against his feet, and fresh tears sprang to his eyes. Ahead of him, Weathertop watched the scene in stony silence.

next update: Monday, August 30, 2004


	5. Chapter Four : 2943

2268  
BS  
Monday, July 19, 2004  
Monday, July 19, 2004

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all its characters, places, plot, etc. belong to other people. Too many to list them all. No infringement intended. Not claiming it as my own . . . not that it really matters. -sigh-  
Warnings: Umm . . . angst. Hard labor. AU-ness.  
Notes: Hah ha! Oh ho oho ho. Umm . . . hahaha. It's just one of those fics. Hahaha.  
Also, I am aware that Aragorn's birthday is in March. It will be revealed in a later chapter.

Ephemeral

chapter four

He was awake before dawn, rolling out of his straw bed and onto the dirt floors of the stable. The horse in the stall next to him put his head over the stall door and nickered at him. He felt his skin grow cold, even though he couldn't hear the noise -- only saw his top lip going up and head pushing forward. He didn't like horses; he had never gotten over the fear from his accident four years prior. He sighed deeply and washed himself with a basin of water poured from a jug in front of his straw bed. He'd pumped the water before retiring the previous night. He dressed in his homespun trousers and an azure waistcoat. White sleeves had been stitched onto it to give the appearance of an undershirt. He slid his feet into boots two sizes too big, and felt his gold coins clink over his toes. He'd managed to keep all six, even after three years at the inn.

He sighed again, thinking of the elderly couple who had found him unconscious in the road, suffering from exposure. They had laid him in the back of their wagon and he had woken hours later, suffering from fever. He had found his knife next to him, and the old woman had told him something. Embarrassed, he had brought his hands to his ears and tapped against them. She caught on, then told her husband something. The old man had turned to look at him, then smiled sadly. He had spent two more days on the road in the back of their wagon, huddled under thick blankets and soaking up the warmth of the sun. He had found his own blanket there, folded in a corner, but his cloak was nowhere to be seen. They had arrived in Bree, and the couple arranged a job for him at the inn. It was more than he had hoped for.

He'd never intended on staying in Bree for more than a few months, but he'd been there for three years. The work was hard and the pay was minuscule. He was rewarded free board and lodging, though, and it could have been much worse. Each morning, he went to the wooden well outside and pumped water. He had to water each horse before the stable hands woke, although no amount of money or prodding could make him go into the stall with one. Then, he had to go into the inn and clean tables and chairs. After that, he would mop the floors and sweep the stairs. He would take his breakfast after all of the guests had eaten and then go back to work. After breakfast, he was paid to empty chamber pots and make beds. He took the dirty linens to be washed, and every other day he would clean the windows and floors. He worked until all the rooms were clean, and then was sent to wash dishes in the kitchen. He hated this task, for the smell of the dirty water made him nauseated. But, after every dish and every mug was clean, he would take his supper under the stars and wash that wooden plate and cup. Then, he pumped more water to give the horses, and retired to his little straw bed for the night. When he didn't have to work as hard -- when there were fewer guests and thus fewer chores -- he would sit in on the bar room and watch the people talk and sing and laugh.

It was one of those nights, he thought with a small smile. He'd worked beyond hard all day, and wanted to see who had wandered into the Prancing Pony this week. He took a deep breath of the night air and left the stable to go for the inn. A stout teenager was standing in front of the door, looking in at the room. Yellow firelight glowed from the room, showing off the teen's brown skin and dark hair. He was the innkeeper's son. He didn't know the boy's name, only that the family's name was Butterbur. The teen took notice of him, and motioned for him to join him. The people of Bree knew of the little deaf-mute boy, but still talked to him as though he could talk back. The boy said something, then pointed inside, his face awed. Estel had come to know that expression as one to signify a new event, something unexpected. Timidly, he looked inside and immediately jerked back. He saw the innkeeper's son chuckle.

Inside, at a table, sat an Elf. He had been so surprised to see one inn Bree! He hadn't seen any Elves since leaving Rivendell three years ago, and the sight of one rattled him. He looked in again, this time keeping his body behind the door and just his eyes and the top of his head in sight. He relaxed a little when he noticed that the Elf wasn't one he recognized. His dress was different from that of the Elves in Rivendell, so he guessed that this was an Elf from Mirkwood or Lothlorien. '_What a long way to be from home,' _he thought. The thought made him sad, and he studied the elf as he watched him glance along the bar walls with disinterest. Suddenly, cool gray eyes locked with his own. The Elf had spotted him and was staring unabashedly.

Estel met his gaze for a moment, then felt a tug on his shoulder. He turned to see the Butterbur boy looking at him anxiously. Suddenly not in the mood for sitting by the fire, he turned back to the stable. He would rest well this night, and in the morning he would go about his chores as usual. He stripped from his uniform and folded it neatly by the bed. He lay on the straw, with just a thin sheet between him and it. He itched through the fabric. He pulled his blanket over his shoulders -- his well-worn blanket with the Elvish embroidery. He stared at the ceiling for hours, and then watched mice crawl along the walls. Sleep evaded him. He was very tired, but he could not stop thinking about the strange elf. Eventually, exhaustion overcame him, and his dreams were full of gray eyes and smooth Elven raiment draped over worn wooden chairs.

He awoke in the morning and found his body was stiff. His head was aching, but he didn't concede to it as he washed and dressed. He went to pump water, and found that it was frozen. An hour was lost there as he shivered in the chill wind. He hated winter, the barrenness and coldness that it brought. The handle on the pump stuck to his bare palms. Eventually, the water came and he carried it in buckets to the horses. He hurried to the inn and shook snow from his boots. He readied the bucket for mopping while wiping down the tables and chairs. Then, he took to the floors and scrubbed them until they reflected the light from the fire. He worked until his fingers started bleeding, then waited in the kitchen to take his meal. He washed his hands in a small bowl with a cake of lye, and poured water over them hurriedly. They were burning, and he moaned with the pain. The cook came in after a few minutes, took one look at the blood staining his fingers, and scowled. She disappeared for a few minutes, then the Innkeeper followed her inside the kitchen. His wife followed him inside, and started bandaging his hands. The cook set to work and handed him a piece of bread and stew. He stared at it in confusion. It wasn't time to eat.

The cook said something and waved him on. He ate each bite and then went to perform his after-breakfast chores. The Innkeeper stopped him with a hand to his shoulder, and shook his head. He pointed to a chair in the corner of the room, by the fire. Estel sat there gratefully, watching as guests came and went. To his surprise, he wasn't asked to do anything for the day. He appreciated the break, but wondered how much money would be taken from his pay. He had to save enough to get out of Bree and on the road to Fornost. He was clinging to his dream of getting there, although he didn't know what he would do once he arrived. He had listened -- in his way of watching lips to see a word spoken -- in the Inn for anyone going there or coming from the city, but had seen nothing. No one mentioned the city -- and it was so close! -- that he grew worried after his first year there. It was as though the Fornost didn't exist, or no one lived there.

He felt very disappointed with himself as he slept that night. He had failed some responsibility to himself. When he had awoken after the wagon-ride into the town, he had vowed that this was his second chance to prove himself. He promised himself that he would work hard until he was proud of himself and could return. His thoughts hadn't turned to Rivendell in many weeks. He was forgetting it, forgetting the place and the people. He was forgetting the way his father would hug him, or how Arwen stood over his shoulder and held his hand in hers as she showed him how to write his letters. He was forgetting the joyous times he had shared with his brothers in the archery field, keeping score as they competed with each other. He had nearly forgotten the exquisite meals that he had eaten in great halls. His mother had been erased from his mind, and he could not even remember his real father's name.

He slept heavily that night and returned to his chores with renewed vigor. He finished early that night, but did not sit in on the bar room. Instead, he washed his uniforms, he only had the three, and rubbed his gold coins between his fingers. They were warm from being pressed against his skin, and he took comfort of holding them. They were his own private symbol of victory. They told him that he had beaten the highwaymen that night, whether they knew it or not. He held them tightly in his hand that night as he slept, and his dreams were of caverns full of treasure, and a brunette woman standing on a hillside, arms outstretched. She was speaking to him, and he heard her words although he could not understand them.

The days passed quickly, and soon winter was winding to a close. He was looking forward to the warmth of spring. There would be more work, with more people moving on the roads, but he would be grateful to leave the chill of winter behind him. He was surprised when his workload was lightened. The Innkeeper Butterbur hired more help, and this girl was assigned to clean the stairs and ready rooms upstairs. She was friendly to him, although a bit cold. She told him, in repeated gestures, that she came from the south. Her face was stressed as she spoke, and she looked uncomfortable mentioning the subject. He left her alone after that, and the weeks crawled by slowly. Spring came, then went and summer was hard on the town.

Innkeeper Butterbur died on the summer solstice at the age of sixty-nine, and Estel found himself choked with emotion. His teenage son took over the inn, and Estel found his workload suddenly doubled when the hired girl left town abruptly. His feet were blistered every day, and hard calluses appeared on his fingers. There was never time to sit in the bar room, and he slept heavily each night with no dreams to be remembered in the morning. He celebrated his thirteenth birthday under the light of the stars, cleaning chamber pots. The old Innkeeper had given him extra food and lighter chores for his birthday, but the Prancing Pony was in grave financial distress and his once-friend, now-employer, couldn't afford to spend anything that he didn't have to. For months, he thought of the old Innkeeper's death. In Rivendell, he had been shielded from mortality. In Bree, he had grown fond of the old man, and then he had died. Just out, like a candle that had burned too long. He wished that he had never left Rivendell, that he had never been exposed to the final fate of his kind.

It was late in August, and he slept deeply at night, swatting mosquitoes unconsciously. The flies were terrible in the stable, and seemed intent on crawling on Estel. He ignored them as long as they did not bite, and when they did, he just batted with his hands. He wondered fleetingly if this was how he was going to spend his days, working himself to his death in an inn in the middle of nowhere. He hoped not, but didn't consider himself to have many options. He hugged his arms to his chest and squirmed under his light sheet -- it and the blanket had switched places in an effort to keep himself the coolest -- and dreamed of an Elf-lady with shimmering blond hair standing against a tree of silver. She was smiling at him, asking him questions that he didn't want to answer. She took his hands gently in her own, and led him to a ship. He could remember the sails blowing in the wind for years afterward.

--- next update : Monday, September 6, 2004. (In which we see Elves.)


	6. Chapter Five : 2944

2360  
BS  
Monday, July 19, 2004  
Tuesday, July 20, 2004

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all its characters, places, plot, etc. belong to other people. Too many to list them all. No infringement intended. Not claiming it as my own . . . not that it really matters. -sigh-  
Warnings: Yet more drama and AU-ness.  
Notes: Hah ha! Oh ho oho ho. Umm . . . hahaha. It's just one of those fics. Hahaha.

Ephemeral

chapter five

Her father was brooding again, Arwen saw. He was poring over some ancient text, scribbling illegible notes with his right hand and turning pages with his left. It had been eleven years since he had clumped the boy Estel into the same category as his own children and renamed him. Her father was looking melancholy and she felt bad for him. It really wasn't his fault that Estel had ran away. She could remember that time clearly. She had risen the morning after her father's departure and waited in the kitchen for the boy. He didn't arrive, so she left for the council meeting, certain that he was sleeping late. He still hadn't shown himself by noon, and she went to his room to find it locked. Deciding to give him some space -- he had been terribly upset when Elrond had left without him -- she hadn't become worried until that night when his seat was empty at the dinner table. She unlocked his room, then ran from the door, shouting for people to help her search for the child. His blanket was gone, and she noticed several pairs of missing clothing.

All of the Last Homely House had turned out to look for Estel, and combed over the valley in their search. It had been futile, and riders were sent in eight directions to look for him. Most of their trackers had gone in the party to Mirkwood, and there had been a risk of less-experienced, younger Elves missing something. Slowly, they had thoroughly searched the surrounding woods and roads, but had found nothing. The two elves sent to the east had come upon Elrond ten days into the search and had explained the situation to dismayed Elladan and Elrohir, then to Elrond himself. The party had sent a messenger to Mirkwood, citing a family crisis, then had returned home. Arwen, not being an experienced tracker or even a good rider, had waited in Rivendell with the hope that Estel would return on his own.

He had not, and days turned into weeks, and then into months without him being found. She sighed loudly and sipped her miruvor, letting the taste wash around her mouth before swallowing. "It was an accident," she said abruptly.

He stopped writing and slowly shifted his eyes from the text to her face. He kept his head bowed, and the overall effect was one of incredulity. "Arwen," he said. "It is not an accident when one loses the heir of Mankind, as it were, the boy who should have been king." He looked at her in a long stare. "It is a tragedy at best, and an act of gross negligence in reality." He turned back to the book. "Speak no more of it."

She exhaled in annoyance. "I only spoke because you seem so despondent. Festering here will accomplish nothing." She regretted her words as soon as she spoke them, and darted from the door immediately. She shut it behind her and gasped as she saw a tall Elf standing before her. He bowed low when he caught her attention and she smiled broadly. He was not an Elf that she recognized -- probably from Mirkwood where she traveled little. "Greetings, sir," she said. "Do you have business with Lord Elrond?"

He nodded politely. She stepped aside and allowed him through. She was almost to the stairs when the door to her father's study snapped off its hinges and her father ran from the room in a rush. He grabbed her wrist as he sped past her and she nearly stumbled down the stairs to keep up with him. She hazarded a look behind her and saw the Elf standing calmly in the room, a small smile on his face. He led her past the confused servants and advisors, and out through the ornate doors of the Last Homely House.

"Father?" she questioned as she ran behind him. "Where are we going?"

He ignored her as though he didn't hear her, then said, "To Bree."

Bree? The little town at the intersection of the East-West Road and the Greenway? "Why?" Her tone was genuinely baffled. There was nothing in Bree but wolves and the occasional Ranger.

They arrived at the stable and she saw her brothers there. They had been grooming their horses and looked up, quizzical, when they entered the stable. Her father continued on, oblivious. "Because, Arwen, that is where Estel is, and we are going to go get him." She felt her breath catch in her throat. Her brothers were staring at their father in shock. Elrond stopped and looked at her, then his sons. "Are you not accompanying me?"

They asked no questions, only saddled their horses and helped Arwen on her own. Two elves appeared next to them, as though by sorcery, and led a pack pony laden with food and supplies along side them. They started immediately. If they rode hard, Bree was seventeen days away. She wasn't fond of long trips, but wanted to see the boy alive and well with her own eyes. She missed the sweet child who sat with her in the library and joined her for breakfast. She didn't have the same memories of him that her brothers had -- before his accident when he was carefree -- but she cherished her own memories of the lad. She blamed herself for letting him get as far away as he did. If she had recognized his absence the first morning, then he would not have been able to elude them.

They rode all of the night and until the noon of the next day. They stopped and let the horses rest while eating fresh fruit and drinking miruvor. Arwen had been on the road there before, but it had been many years and everything seemed alien to her. The banks around the road were covered with leafy green vegetation. There were hills and forests where she remembered none before. They waited until nightfall before riding again. This pattern was followed for several days. Progress seemed unbearably slow. Several times, she questioned her father to what the Elf had told him in Rivendell, or who the Elf was, but he answered her not. The forests gave way to unnoticeable grass lands, then back to trees as the days stretched onward. Amon Sûl loomed in front of them, then they left it behind.

They stopped on the road that night, only because necessity mandated it. Arwen was too anxious to eat; she nibbled on a slice of dried apple, the taste bland in her mouth. They would be in Bree in two days. There, she hoped that Estel would be well, and happy to see them. They had missed him terribly, but she was forced to wonder if the human child even wanted to return home. She wished that he hadn't ran away. He had never expressed being unhappy with living in the valley. She had always known him to be a reserved child, but her brothers told her that this was not the case. Before the loss of his hearing, he had been unapologetically underfoot, stealing sweets from the kitchen, playing wildly in places that young children should not be playing. His tragic accident left him with little to do, and a severe disability on life. Acrimoniously, her brothers told him that the people of Rivendell had found him more likeable as a deaf child. One drunken citizen went so far as to thank the sons of Elrond for deafening him. Their father had not held them responsible for the savage beating that had followed.

As they rode, she looked for food and water that the little human could have used on his flight. There were a few streams after crossing the Mitheithel, but she didn't know if Estel could have found them without the sound of running water. The land was without a rich supply of food. Estel could not hunt, and unless he strayed far from the road, there was little edible. But, if someone had seen him in Bree, then he had to have crossed the distance with some nourishment. They had crossed the imposing remains of an old apple tree, its blackened limbs extending high to the heavens and low to the earth. It had been split in the middle by lightning, probably, and its tall corpse stood broken in the sky. She felt some emotion rise in her breast when she saw it, but could not place a name to the sensation.

They reached Bree at night. The gate was barred to them, and they had to wait for several long minutes for the gate keeper to rouse himself and allow them entry. He looked at them askance. "What brings Elves here, so late at night?"

No one answered, and then Elrohir said, "It is no concern of yours. We will not be staying long." They walked over the stone roads, looking at the stone buildings. Arwen thought the place quite quaint, although she kept the notion to herself. Her father seemed to be looking for something, his eyes scanning through every sign on each stone building. They wandered through the streets, then his eyes lit on an inn. The Prancing Pony, Arwen noted. He led his horse in that direction, and the other five Elves followed behind. They left the horses with one Elf and the Elrond walked inside. Arwen followed, and saw that her brothers were behind her. Inside the Inn, villagers drank ale from surprisingly clean tankards. There was a wench on the table, singing a raunchy song and tapping her feet to the rhythm. Arwen wrinkled her nose in disgust as the smell hit her, and she upheld every effort not to gag. Beside her, her brothers looked annoyed. The Elf behind them had obviously not been to a human city before, and was looking around the room with wild eyes.

A swarthy man approached them. He had curly dark hair, and wore a stained apron around his front. He said, "What can I do for, ye?" He polished a mug as he spoke, eyes glancing over all of the strangers, then settling on her father.

Elrond spoke, and Arwen had forgotten how rough Westron sounded. "We need rooms and stabling for seven horses." She watched her father transform as he spoke. He could be kind and warm, or even cold with anger, but then, he spoke with a very regal air of indifference. "I would like to speak to the proprietor of this establishment."

The man blinked slowly. "We have two rooms, but the horses aren't a problem." He set his glass down and extended his meaty hand. "The cost is affordable. Half now, half when you leave. I'm Butterbur, owner."

Arwen blinked in surprise. He was the owner? But he was so young! She barely heard as the man ordered a fat hobbit to see to their horses.

Elrond pulled the man to the side. "We are here for a young human. He is thirteen now, light complexion and black hair." Elrond stared intently at the young man. "He has been deaf for several years now. One of my kinsmen sent word that he saw him here, in this very inn." He took an intimidating step toward the lad. "Do you know of whom I speak?"

The Butterbur boy was shaking. Understanding lit his eyes and he nodded vigorously. He pulled away from their party and walked to a door in the back. They followed. The man continued speaking as he walked. "I didn't know the little fellow had any family. He's been here for four years now." He made hand motions as he spoke, although Arwen could decipher no meaning from them. "We sent for the carpenter to make the coffin two days ago," he said. Arwen saw her father stumble and felt her own heart fall in her chest.

"Coffin?" She heard one of her brothers repeat.

"Aye, the poor lad. The fever struck him last week. We had a midwife look at him a few days ago, but she didn't give us any hope." He stopped in front of the stable and Arwen could see her horse being led into a stall. They walked past several stalls, one on each side of her, until coming to a little area in the rear of the building. There was a heap of cloths in a corner, and the Innkeeper motioned to it. Arwen turned to look and could see movements from under the fabric. Her father knelt by the corner and pulled the blankets away from the shivering body underneath them.

Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at the sickly form of Estel. She could barely recognize him. The light highlighted his sunken eyes and soaked hair. His skin was a pallid shade, and seemed entirely too thin. He was wearing some sort of coat over a white and blue shirt. His eyes were closed, and his face shone with sweat.

"Alas, Estel," her father said. He rubbed the boy's face under his hands and staved off the shivering. He picked him up and took the cloak from his shoulders to wrap around the child.

The Innkeeper returned a moment later -- she hadn't even realized he had left -- and handed her an envelope. "His wages," he said. "Take him if you wish, just be sure to get rid of all these sick blankets."

Elrond turned to him. "We are taking him to a room inside. In the morning we will leave."

The Innkeeper sputtered. "You can't do that! I can't have no sick whelps in my Inn!"

Her father leveled him with a look that had brought down the mighty. He carried Estel away from the stable and inside the sweltering Inn. Mr. Butterbur did naught to stop them. Arwen went ahead and unlocked their rooms. She heard a guest say loudly, "What's this? The Boy is still alive?" There was a series of rough cackles. Arwen ignored them and focused on Estel. Her father and brothers brought him into the room, and she held his hand -- his skin was rough -- in hers.

next update: Monday, September 13, 2004


	7. Chapter Six : 2944

2410  
BS  
Tuesday, July 20, 2004  
Tuesday, July 20, 2004

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all its characters, places, plot, etc. belong to other people. Too many to list them all. No infringement intended. Not claiming it as my own . . . not that it really matters. -sigh-  
Warnings: Confusing dream sequence. And AU-ness.  
Notes: Hah ha! Oh ho oho ho. Umm . . . hahaha. It's just one of those fics. Hahaha.  
Also, symbolism is very important in this chapter. I promise. The italicized speech/song came directly from Galadriel in the book.

Ephemeral

chapter six

Estel had a dream. In his dream, he was sleeping in a circle of fire, with hot coals under his skin. He was covered in a thick blanket of smoke. There were stars hanging in the sky above him, twinkling majestically. One star was brighter than all the others, and this star was directly above his eyes. He could barely see through the smoke, only saw a shimmer of light growing brighter and brighter. Suddenly, the bow of a ship appeared and cut through the smoke. The light was on the ship, and it circled around him. The stern of the ship turned away from him, and he could see the escutcheon on it. He could not read the name, but was pacified with the picture of a great white gull bronzed onto the wooden ship. The ship stopped next to him, and a man jumped off the deck. He had no head, only a glowing light in its place.

"Are you a Vala?" he asked, awed.

The man did not answer. He stood outside of the flames, arms on his hips and legs imposingly planted apart. He stood strong and tall, and looked directly at Estel. He walked forward defiantly, then reached down and extended a hand to Estel. His arm was not bothered by the flames. They licked at him, but they might as well have not existed. "You must be strong, Aragorn. There is a heavy burden on your shoulders."

"Aragorn?" he asked. The man nodded sagely. Estel reached for his hand, but the fire burned him, and he recoiled. Eyes shut, he hissed in pain. When he looked again, the man and the ship were gone. The coals were still underneath him, but someone had stoked them, for they burned hotter and snapped violently. The flames were taller, extending high into the sky. The stars were gone, only the blackness of night remained. He reached to where the glowing man had been, and felt someone pick him up. He saw that it was his father.

"Estel," his dream-father said. "I have come to take you home." He carried him lovingly against his chest, whispering to him soothingly. He walked for hours, holding Estel in his arms. The darkness was replaced by moonlight, and a wide ocean opened up before him. They were on the coast, and the waves crashed against the shore. Estel had never seen the ocean before. Still, he recognized it as though it had always been his home. His father set him down in the shallows; the water cooled his burned feet.

"Where are we?" he asked his dream-father. He had told him that he was taking him home, but this was not home.

Dream-Elrond was quiet for a long time, just watching the water crash into the shore. "I am unhappy, my son," he said at length. Estel looked at him quizzically. "There is something in this sea that I would very much like to have." He started to silently cry, and Estel clung to his legs. "Alas! I should not speak of it, for it has been lost many ages ago."

Estel sniffled. If there was something bad enough to make his father cry, then it must surely be sad! "Tell me, Father, what you seek, and I will get it for you!"

"Would you, Estel? Would you, truly?" Elrond knelt in front of Estel and placed both hands on his shoulders. "I want it terribly."

Estel nodded with only the slightest hint of doubt. He turned to the ocean and jumped into the icy waters. He swam without the need for air for many hours until he spotted a glimmer on the ocean floor. He did not know what he was looking for, but somehow knew that this was it. As he got closer, he saw that it was a glowing sphere. He stopped swimming, enthralled by its radiance, then reached out to touch it. His hand was suddenly aflame, even under the water. The glowing circle was burning him and he screamed in agony. His voice was joined by another scream, this one more mellifluous and gentler.

His dream shifted suddenly, and he was in a forest glen with his father, his brothers, and his sister sitting around him. He was moaning with the pain in his palm. His hair was done up in braids, and he felt that he was older than he should have been. The tree branches above him where gray. Beech. There was moss under his back, and it served as a decent cushion as he lay there. Sweat trickled down his forehead, and it ran into his eyes. He held them closed and turned onto his side.

"Are you in pain, my son?" Elrond asked. There was something different about him, something that Estel could not understand. His movements were exaggerated and overlapped, so that there were many Elronds at one time.

"Pain is nothing," he heard himself say. He clenched his hand into a fist and saw molten metal run from his hand. "It is death that concerns me, and my wretched fate as a mere mortal." He curled into a fetal position and tried not to watch as the metal ran around him from his hand. It seared him when it touched his skin and he could see it blanketing him under its polished surface. The metal poured and poured, and soon it enveloped him completely. He could think of nothing but the burn of it and the pain consumed him.

The metal cooled and hardened, then cracked in thousands of tiny lines all over his body. He could move, and he stepped out of his metal coffin. His family was nowhere to be found. Instead, he was in a tomb. There was row after row of graves inside the tomb. He was standing next to the eldest, and looked at its dust-covered insignia. Elros-Tar-Minyatur. The name was very familiar, but he could not think of where he had heard it before. Suddenly, the lid of the sepulcher shifted and a man sat upright. Estel gasped as he saw his father in the grave. "You are in the line of the Kings of Númenor. Intruder!" The figure sprang to its feet, and all around the dead were rising. A woman at the end of the line looked at him with scorn. "You do not belong here. You are not of the line!" His father shouted. They chased him with swords until he ran from the tomb into the light of the outside.

He ran outside and a mountain loomed behind him. In front of him stood a great silver tree. Trapped in its branches was the Elf-lady he had seen before in his dreams. She was sleeping with a content smile on her face, but stirred when he walked in front of her. The branches held her suspended in the air, with her long chiffon dress blowing in the wind. She smiled at him mysteriously, and the branches holding her writhed like snakes and then moved until they carried her to float in front of him. "You have traveled many long days, Arathornsson," she said.

Arathorn? He had heard that name before -- somewhere. He bowed in front of her, as it seemed to be the only thing to do.

She laughed merrily. "No green mound shall grow under the withered branches of Lothlorien." She said this with finality. "The time for that had passed." A hard wind blew without warning and shook the silver tree's mighty limbs. She shook with the force of it. Tears sprang to his eyes from the bitter chill. "A north wind blows," she muttered. Her hair fell around her in a golden curtain. She suddenly seemed to remember that he was in front of her. "My child," she said like a matriarch. "You have been cast into eternal fire." He shivered. "Not even Grinding Ice would save you, now."

He stared at her and felt his heart grow heavy with her words. "Are you a Vala?" he asked.

She laughed splendidly. He saw the tree shake with amusement. "Nay, child. But, do not despair, for there is still hope. Hold this thought tightly to your breast._ Ah! like gold fall the leaves in the wind, long years numberless as the wings of trees! The years have passed like swift draughts of the sweet mead in lofty halls beyond the West, beneath the blue vaults of Varda wherein the stars tremble in the song of her voice, holy and queenly. Who now shall refill the cup for me? For now the Kindler, Varda, the Queen of the Stars, from Mount Everwhite has uplifted her hands like clouds, and all paths are drowned deep in shadow; and out of a grey country darkness lies on the foaming waves between us, and mist covers the jewels of Calacirya for ever. Now lost, lost to those from the East is Valimar! Farewell! Maybe thou shalt find Valimar. Maybe even thou shalt find it. Farewell!"_ As she spoke, Estel's eyes were lulled to close. He opened them at the end of her song to see that her arms were no longer arms. Instead, they were long golden branches extending from her shoulders. He stood frozen as her right 'arm' entwined with a branch from the silver tree and then extended forward to pierce him through the heart.

He fell backward, but landed in a sea of tall grasses. Daisies peppered the ground around him as little white dots in a field of yellow. He rose to his feet and looked around. He turned around in a complete circle and there was a brunette woman standing in front of him. She wore white, with gold clasps holding the fabric together beautifully. In her left hand were reins connected to a large blood bay mare. In her right hand were the reins to a snow-white gray mare. He felt no fear being in their presence. She mounted the bay mare and the reins disappeared from the horse. Instead, she held tightly to her mane and the horse walked into a canter. The gray mare remained. He walked to her and climbed upon her back. She took off after her companions.

Estel found a strange sense of peace overwhelm him. He had never learned to ride. He had been too young before his accident, and too scared afterward. He was riding on the back of his horse, hair blowing in the wind. He chased after the girl on the horse. She was not beautiful, he thought. However, there was something about her that called to him. He rode close behind her, could see her smiling face beneath a wave of dark hair. "Wait!" he called to her. "What is your name?"

She did not slow, only shouted something to the wind. The sound reached his ears as a low wail on the wind. She pressed harder and soon her mount disappeared over the edge of a hill. He followed, but could find no trace of the girl or her horse. He pulled his own steed to a halt, and stood in the middle of a large meadow. There was a darkness in front of him, and he rode toward it. The meadow faded away and he rode the gray mare on scorched earth. Black gates loomed before him. Without warning, his horse reared sharply and he fell from its bare back. The ground smacked him hard and his eyes opened widely.

Breathing hard, Estel looked at his surroundings. He was sitting upright in a bed, and after a moment realized that he was in his room in Rivendell. Arwen was sitting in a chair to his right, book folded on her lap. Elrond was standing against the far wall, his back turned to him. He was pouring something and turning to glance at the stars past the window. On each side, a twin lay on his bed. He fell back onto the bed, and the movement stirred them. They turned to him as one and petted his hair affectionately. Arwen stirred from her book and Elrond came to him from the window.

"Estel," he read as his father spoke. "You have been ill, my son."

He felt Arwen hug him tightly and realized that he could hear nothing. He dreamed with sound. Then . . . this was real? He pondered the implications. He remembered going to sleep in the stable with a headache. There were bits and snatches of half-remembered dreams. He could remember it being hot. How did he come home? No one there knew of his past in Rivendell . . .

Arwen touched his shoulder. She waited until he was looking at her before saying, "We have missed you greatly, Estel. Please, tell us why you left home." He realized that he had never heard her voice in reality. His mind supplied a tone and pitch that did not belong to her. Her face was perplexed as she waited for his answer.

He considered his question. He could not answer honestly. He could not allow himself to look foolish -- and, he was so foolish! Nor could he admit that he had failed in his goal. He had never made it to Fornost. His journey from Rivendell had been in vain, and he could not say it aloud. Tears sprang from his eyes. He pulled his blankets fiercely from under his brothers, and covered his head. The tears fell freely now, and his shoulders shook from his sobs.

He felt a warm touch on his shoulder, then the bed shifted and he felt his brothers leave. There were no other movements that he could feel and he assumed that they had left. His sobs came harder, and he threw the blanket from his warm body. He stumbled out of the bed, weak on his legs, and staggered to the window. He looked up into the night sky, searching for the bright star that had been in his dreams. There was a bright star in the sky, Eärendil. He thought aloud, "Could this be that star?" He shook his head. No, the star in his dreams had been a man on a boat. Still, the man's words echoed inside of his head. "_You must be strong Aragorn. There is a heavy burden on your shoulders._" There was a comfort in that thought, and he fell asleep with his head propped on his forearm, gazing into the night sky.

-----

next update: Monday, September 20, 2004

. . . a happy ending? It's on the agenda. (Only five parts to go.)


	8. Chapter Seven : 2953

2547  
BS  
Tuesday, July 20, 2004  
Wednesday, July 21, 2004

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all its characters, places, plot, etc. belong to other people. Too many to list them all. No infringement intended. Not claiming it as my own . . . not that it really matters. -sigh-  
Warnings: More drama. And AU-ness.  
Notes: Hah ha! Oh ho oho ho. Umm . . . hahaha. It's just one of those fics. Hahaha.

Ephemeral

chapter seven

Lazy days were his favorites, Estel reflected as he rolled on his bed and stretched languidly in the sunlight. The twenty-two-year-old sighed and punched his pillow underneath his head. The sun had been up for two hours, but he was still in his night clothes. A book was propped on his chest and thighs, and he turned pages with his right hand whenever needed. The book was written in some ancient language, and it detailed the life of an insignificant maid in the house of Fingolfin, and all the scandals she had been privy to. He read a passage and flushed red with the implications. He was pleased that he could read well enough to understand most of the books in the library. They had taught him much, and had proven to be a useful outlet for him to learn culture.

He saw a shadow pass between his bed and window, then felt a heavy weight sit on his bed. Svelte hands lifted the book from him and carried it away. He glanced up and saw Arwen skimming the text, her eyes growing wider with every sentence. A pink tinge to her cheeks, she leveled a scolding glare in his direction. "Estel! This is hardly appropriate material for someone your age!" Her eyes were full of mirth as she said it, so he ignored her.

"It is my birthday, Arwen," he said at length. He had learned over the years to speak softly. Gone were the days he would shout obliviously.

"Yes," she said. He wished that he could close his eyes and ignore her, but that would just make her angry. Instead, he watched her words with feigned interest. "It is because it is your birthday that you should not sleep late into the day. Come, we have much planned."

He groaned. "I am too old to have these celebrations."

She stared at him, genuinely bewildered. "Old?" She shook her head with delectation. "Ah, Little Brother, you are not old!" She grabbed his hands and pulled him upright. "You are young, yet!" She dragged him to his feet, and kissed him on the cheek. "Come, there is much to be done. Dress, and join us for lunch." She picked up the book he had been reading from its spot on the floor. "I will take this back to the library, where it will not distract you." She walked out of the room with a great flourish, book held against her chest. On impulse, he followed her silently. He stuck his head into the corridor in time to see her walk into her room and walk out -- without the book. He giggled and she turned to see him. Face red, she shouted something at him that he could not find a word for, and stalked down the hall.

Alone in his room, he stripped his shirt and leggings away. He browsed for clothing and settled on cerulean raiment. He braided his hair in a simple plait, and shod his feet in blue slippers. He left the room and went directly to the kitchen. He picked up a piece of fruit and then ate it as he sought out his family. They were sitting at a table, waiting for him. He took his spot opposite Elrond. Arwen sat on his right, Elladan on his left. Elrohir sat next to his twin, and Glorfindel sat on Elrond's other side. They greeted him and began eating.

"What do you have planned for your birthday?" Elrond asked as he selected a piece of bread and smeared creamy butter over it. He was looking apprehensive and rubbed his thumb over the little band of gold on his right index finger.

He sighed melodramatically. "Father, I had intended to delight in the simple pleasures of life. A day of watching butterflies on flower blossoms, swimming in the waters and letting them breathe new life into me. I shall watch the mountains under the crepuscular sky, and stare into the heavens above me. The dome of stars shall be like jewels on the rich raiment of the cloak of the night. The vault of heaven shall open before me, and I shall hear the words of the song of --" He stopped as he saw his family had stopped eating and was watching him.

"I see someone has been reading Maglor, again." He saw Glorfindel say.

"Drunken Maglor, you mean," his father said and ate his bread. His siblings were staring at him aghast.

He blushed slightly and said, "In truth, Father, I feel that it is no longer appropriate to make such a fuss over this."

"Nonsense," his father said. "Your life has just yet begun. Were you an Elf, you would celebrate your begetting day for many years yet to come." The expression in his eyes said that this was the final word in the matter. _We will celebrate this until I chose not to do so._ He stopped himself from bringing up the point that this wasn't his begetting day and that he was not an Elf.

He felt a kick under the table and turned to his left. Elladan and Elrohir were looking at him with their eyes twinkling. "We are aware of your epicurean tendencies, Brother," Elladan said. Estel mentally groaned. "We have made arrangements with the cooks, and you will not be disappointed." Anything further they might have said, he did not see, for he shut his eyes tightly. He opened them again and peeked at the table. Arwen was smiling broadly at him, Elladan and Elrohir were picking grapes from the bottom of an ornately-carved fruit bowl, and his father and Glorfindel were conversing privately at the other side of the table. Estel drank from his glass of miruvor -- funny, it tasted like water.

It had been a good day, Estel thought as he changed for the grand supper his brothers had promised him. Arwen had sewn a claret brocade vest for him, and he had promised her that he would wear it for the dinner. It spoke of excellent needlework, the golden threads creating an exquisite design along the border and back. His brothers presented him with a book of bawdy historical incidents that they had found on a trip to Lake-town. Elrond looked ashamed when they presented it to him. There were various other trinkets that members of the house had bestowed upon him, and he had been touched by each one. Elrond had told him that he would give him a gift after the feast, and he had spent the day wondering what it could be.

For a polished appearance, he shaved before the dinner. He was not fond of the task. He had started growing a beard five years ago, and Elrond had given him a book about the differences between Men and Elves. He had told him that it would be easier for Estel to read that than Elrond try to explain. An hour after Elrond's visit, Glorfindel -- who had been distant to Estel when he was younger, but was slowly growing close to the man -- had brought a sharp razor to him. Estel had quickly determined that Elves were useless when it came to shaving facial hair, and stopped asking for advice. He splashed soapy water on his face and patted it dry with a towel. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and was satisfied that he wasn't bleeding anywhere. He combed through his hair and braided it again. The braid slapped against his upper back as he walked back to the bed. He carefully donned his vest and admired the way it fitted. He laced his breeches and sat on the bed as he tugged on his ceremonial boots. He felt something cold hit his foot. He jerked for a moment, then remembered the little gold coins that he kept there. He felt guilty that he had forgotten about them. They were symbols of his strength and ability to overcome adversity.

Fully dressed, he strode to the great hall and saw people applaud daintily when he entered. There were music and dancing, although he could not hear them. Arwen waved him toward her. She met him halfway across the floor and pulled him into a lively dance. He followed her movements to keep in time with the music. They smiled sweetly at each other, and he was grateful that she was his sister. After Arwen retired to the table, he joined her and they feasted. There were many types of food, and he sampled everything. The people settled down around them -- it was not yet time for singing and dancing. They would eat first, then move to the Hall of Fire. Estel stayed at the table while the guests came and went around him. After the feast, Elrond rose and clasped Estel's shoulder. They walked together out of the room, and he saw that his brothers and sister were following them. Behind them, the rest of the party assembled and readied to leave.

As they walked to the doors, attendants flung them wide and they emptied into a wide passage. The same attendants stumbled over themselves to open the next doors, and they entered the Hall of Fire. Estel saw the empty room and watched as the flickering flames cast shadows on the walls. He felt apprehensive, suddenly, as though something important was going to happen. Elrond steered Estel to his reserved seat, and minstrels broke into song. Now, the dancing began in earnest. As soon as he was seated, an Elf-maiden approached and pulled him into a dance. It was harder to follow her movements than Arwen's, and found himself out of step more than once. Arwen had practiced with him for many weeks, and he could dance decently with her. This maiden didn't seem to mind, though, when he stepped out of rhythm. The dance ended, and another Elf took her place. Much of the night passed this way. His feet were beginning to ache when his last partner wandered away from the dance. Estel walked to the hearth and leaned against one of the adjacent columns.

"Who now shall refill the cup for me?" he whispered. He wasn't aware that he spoke aloud until Erestor, who had been standing nearby, turned and looked at him curiously. Estel shook himself to clear his head.

Long hours passed and Estel found that he was drowsy. The merriment continued around him, but he did not feel well enough to partake in it. He closed his eyes and dozed against the wall. He was startled, though, when Elrond stood next to him and touched his chin. He jumped awake and stared at his father while trying to calm his breathing. "Yes, Father?"

Elrond appeared ethereal in the firelight. Light and shadow danced across his face. He appeared youthful with one flicker of the fire, and ancient with the next. He stood proud and strong, but his eyes were filled with timeless grief. He watched the fire for several long seconds, then turned to Estel. "My son, I have delayed this task for many years when I should not. Now, the time comes when action must be taken." He breathed deeply. Estel could hardly see his words in the dimness of the room. "I must speak with you. This is not a matter to be discussed in this room." He pushed a stray hair away from Estel's eyes. "I will meet you in the morning in my study. We have much to discuss." He stepped away from the hearth. "Sleep well, my son."

Estel felt dread running through him. He looked around the room and noticed that everyone had left. He pondered Elrond's words as he walked languidly back to his own room. His father had been keeping something from him for many years? He thought of what it could be as he walked. Was it relating to his deafness? Or to his 'excursion' in Bree? He climbed the stairs to his room, and sat down on the bed. He was distracted as he unbuttoned his vest. He folded it neatly and stacked it by his door. Someone would be by to wash it in the morning. He put the toe of his right boot against the heel of his left, and pulled backwards. The boot slid off his foot, and he stared at the coin-relief that had been pressed into his foot. He repeated the action with his right boot, and then set them by the bed. He would clean them in the morning, after his meeting with Elrond. He unlaced his leggings and crawled into the bed, nude.

The moon was full that night, and it illuminated the world softly. He lay on his back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Unconsciously, he turned toward the window and looked out. The sky was full of light, and he found himself smiling. Eärendil glowed brightly. Without thought, he spoke aloud, ". . . In lofty halls beyond the West . . ." He turned westward and stared at the starry sky. "Beneath the blue vaults of Varda wherein the stars tremble in the song of her voice, holy and queenly." He stopped then, and wondered why he had said such a thing. The words seemed familiar to him. He thought of where he could have heard them before, but knew not. He pulled his thin blanket around his shoulders and thought about his words. Varda. Elbereth. He would have liked to meet her, for she seemed splendid.

Sleep would not come to him this night. He watched the moon move through the night sky, watched the clouds float in front of it, then vanish. As he stared at the moon, he thought he could see an eye. It was made of flames and moved to look in his direction. When it saw him, its pupil widened and the flames seemed to burn brighter. Then, Estel blinked and the eye was gone. He turned onto his side and buried his head in his pillow. He sniffed it, then frowned and sat up in the bed. The fabric smelled of some floral scent that he could not identify. He picked it up and smelled again. Yes, definitely floral. He slid off his bed and picked up his breeches. He put them on -- didn't bother with the laces -- and picked up the pillow. He exited his room and walked down the corridor to Arwen's room. He tapped lightly on the door before entering.

Arwen sat in her chair, reading by candlelight. She looked up at his approach. "Is there something you need, Little Brother?" she asked. Her face was expressionless, but he could detect some sort of amusement in her eyes.

"Your pillow," he said and held the offensive accouterment.

"_My _pillow?"

"It smells like your shampoo."

She accepted the pillow and sniffed it. "Indeed, my pillow." She motioned to the bed where he saw another fluffy pillow set to the side. He picked it up, smelled it, and sighed in relief. They had been switched in being cleaned. This one smelled of damp earth, of musky masculinity. He held it to his chest and waved goodnight as he left the room. He slept well that night, under the cool gaze of the overhanging stars.

----- next update: Monday, September 27, 2004.


	9. Chapter Eight : 2953

2626  
BS  
Wednesday, July 21, 2004  
Friday, July 23, 2004

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all its characters, places, plot, etc. belong to other people. Too many to list them all. No infringement intended. Not claiming it as my own . . . not that it really matters. -sigh-  
Warnings: Angst and AU-ness.  
Notes: Hah ha! Oh ho oho ho. Umm . . . hahaha. It's just one of those fics. Hahaha.  
The poem is from the New England Primer. o-o  
History of Middle-Earth helped greatly here for dates and odd facts.

Ephemeral

chapter eight

He dressed casually to meet his doom, simple slippers and a black tunic and black trousers. He left his hair loose and walked with a pained step from his room to Elrond's study. He forwent breakfast, and his stomach grumbled in protest. He entered his father's study and sat opposite a large writing desk. His eyes scanned the small collection of books to his right, looking for something to occupy his mind until Elrond came to him. He was shaking in worry and anticipation. He did not think that his father would keep something from him, but the previous night's conversation had proven him wrong. Perhaps he had read incorrectly . . . He selected a book on identifying Orc types, and skimmed through the pages as he waited.

Elrond entered shortly and patted Estel on the shoulder as he walked to the desk and sat behind it. He folded his hands on the wooden surface, then exhaled deeply. "My son," he began. Estel paid extra attention to reading his father's words. Elrond took care to talk slowly. That meant that whatever he had to say was important and he did not want Estel to misread. Estel had perfected his art, and he seldom did not understand so long as he was looking directly at the speaker. If he were confused, he would repeat the words and wait for the affirming nod or negatory shake of a head to indicate his comprehension. Elrond reached under his desk and retrieved an object wrapped in a gray cloth. "In the merriment last night, it was forgotten to give you your gift." He held the object forth and Estel accepted it. "It is rightly yours, although you have not known of its existence here," Elrond said mysteriously.

Estel unwrapped the cloth and looked down on the hilt and broken shards of a sword. He held the hilt in his hands and turned it experimentally. A broken sword? He looked up to his father with a bewildered face. "I was not expecting this," he said honestly. He had little skill in the sword. He could defend himself, if the need arose. He remembered when he had been fifteen and had reluctantly recounted his attack on the road by highwaymen. Aghast, his brothers had insisted that he learn to wield a weapon. They had taught him themselves, not even going orc-hunting until they were satisfied that he wouldn't accidentally stab himself if he tried to use the blade. He was proficient, but he did not enjoy the art. He knew that his father was aware of this. Elrond also knew that Estel had a short sword that he kept in the trunk at the foot of his bed, seldom used. What good was a broken sword to anyone?

"My son, I will explain." Elrond tapped his shoulder before speaking as Estel's attention had been drawn back to the blade. "You know that you are my son." Estel nodded. "I love you as though you were my own." He waited until Estel nodded again. "You also know that you are not my son by blood or race." Estel hung his head and nodded again. "When you were an infant, Estel, your father sent your mother and you to live here. You were to be raised in Rivendell until old enough to join your father and the other Rangers in the north." Estel watched with a blank face. Elrond paused and seemed to be thinking on his next words. "However, when your father was killed, your mother and I agreed that I would see to your safekeeping and assume the role of your father. Your mother left to live with her parents yonder." He appeared somewhat guilty as he said, "This is the day we celebrate, when you came permanently under my care." Estel started to ask where 'yonder' was, but stopped himself and waited to hear all of his father's explanation. "We have not heard word from Gilraen in many years."

Estel looked at him with troubled eyes. "Then . . . when is my birthday?"

Elrond crossed his hands in front of him and thought, then said, "Your date of birth is the first of March." Estel nodded numbly. He stopped then and wandered over to the shelf on the side of the desk and picked up a decanter. He poured a glass of miruvor for himself and one for Estel. When he turned around, he had been speaking and Estel gazed at him, waiting for Elrond to realize that he had not heard this part of the explanation.

Elrond quickly started again, "My son," he said. "I will now be forthwith in this story." He swirled his glass and Estel took a sip of his own. "You are knowledgeable of the Second Age, correct?" Estel nodded slowly. "Thus, you are aware of the Last Alliance of Elves and Men?" Estel nodded again, although with some hesitation. He had seen the woven tapestries depicting valiant battles when he had been younger, and had spent many days researching them. He had been intrigued -- and even more so when he discovered that his father had fought in them -- but was not brave enough to speak of them to those who knew more than he did. ". . . the sword that was broken," he saw his father say and guiltily realized that he had missed the first of the sentence. Estel looked down to the sword in his hands. This was the sword of Elendil? This was . . .

"Narsil," he said aloud. He looked up to his father in shock. Elrond was giving him Narsil?

"My son, these fragments have been passed down and treasured by the descendants of Isildur. For many years, they have been kept here in Rivendell, where they are safe from harm." Elrond paused and drank from his glass. "You are of this line," he said. Estel stared, computing what he had just been told. Elrond continued. "Your father was Arathorn II, son of Arador." Estel felt a shiver jerk through him. _Arathorn _. . . he had heard that name before. It was familiar, and yet not. He felt Elrond's heavy hand on his shoulder. "Estel, I have named you -- for you were to bring hope to men. But in truth, you are Aragorn II, son of Arathorn II."

Estel felt himself shake. _What . . . ?_ His father had stopped speaking and was watching his reaction. Estel stared at the floor. The thought immediately leapt to his mind, and he muttered it aloud. "You must be strong, Aragorn. There is a heavy burden on your shoulders." He shook his head as he spoke. Just a dream -- only a hallucination of his near-deadly fever. He knew not what his father had said while his eyes were downcast. When he tilted his head upwards, he saw his father staring at him solicitously. He started to speak, but Estel squeezed his eyes closed so that he would not see his words.

Estel stood and the chair toppled over from his abrupt movement. The sword fell from his lap and scattered on the floor. He looked at it as though it were a writhing snake. The sunlight reflected on it in a shimmer. He took a step backwards. He composed himself and exited the room without a word to his father. He wound through long corridors, his head spinning. He passed by Arwen, who was strolling through gardens with someone that he did not take the time to recognize. He saw her look at him worriedly. He passed over the bridge and hurried away from the House. He would not leave the vale, had learned his lesson well the last time. Instead, he wound off the road and walked along the river. He lay on the grass and looked up into the sky. The trees were still green with leaves, and they obscured his view. He closed his eyes and tried not to think of what had been revealed to him.

It was a futile exercise, and as he lay for hours upon the damp grass, he mentally pored over every fact he knew of his lineage. He did not wish to come from such a line, was not ready to accept this burden. He thought of how wonderful life could have been if Elrond had told him that his father had raised pigs for a living. Better yet, had Elrond not told him anything of his blood father. He was content to be Elrond's fosterling until he died, but that goal was crushed. He realized that Elrond had not told him this lightly. Something was needed from him. Whether he was to take the throne of Gondor or ride to the North and join the Rangers, something was needed from him. He sighed loudly and recited a poem that he had read once. "_Our days begin with trouble here,"_ He paused and tried to recall the words. "_Our life is but a span_"; He continued, "_And cruel death is always near, So frail a thing is man._" He bit his lip in thought, trying to remember in which book he had read the verse.

A piece of parchment fluttered into his vision and landed on his chest. He picked it up and read the elegant handwriting. "How very sad. Did you write such words?" He looked up and saw Arwen standing in front of him. She sat on the grass next to him and gazed motionlessly into the river before them. At length, she turned to Estel and ran her milky-white fingers through his hair. She looked at him sadly, and he turned his face from her. After a moment, he saw her writing on the same piece of parchment with an ink bottle set by her foot and a pen in her hand. She held a flat wooden tablet on her lap and held the paper-parchment against it. She handed him the writing and he read it quickly. "Will you not look at me?" He shook his head, and she wrote again. "I am sure she is a lovely girl."

Estel turned to her sharply. Eyes wide, he said, "What are you speaking of, Sister?"

Arwen looked suddenly apprehensive, her eyes shielded. "You have not spoken with Father?" she asked. Her face was tight and her words were short.

He sat upright upon the grass and stared at her for a lengthy silence. "I have spoken to Father. He has told me of my past, and of my identity as Aragorn." He turned to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "What girl do you speak of?" He narrowed his eyes as he spoke. Arwen met his stare evenly.

"Perhaps you should speak to Father again, Aragorn." She did not meet his gaze.

"Sister, I am not Aragorn." He flinched at the name. "I am Estel, your brother." He rose then and left the river. He walked slowly, trying to sort through his thoughts. He strayed back to the main road and crossed the bridge. He continued walking until he entered the Last Homely House. He returned immediately to the study, only to find it empty. His confusion and anger -- what more was his father keeping from him? -- strong, he searched the house for Elrond. He looked for anyone to direct him to the lord of the house, but the rooms were curiously empty. With much dread, he walked to the stable. He had avoided the area after recovering from his childhood trauma unless necessity had demanded it. His time in Bree had only strengthened his discomfort of being around horses. Still, he pushed closer to the building, then tentatively stepped inside.

Elrohir was grooming a horse when he entered. His brother spotted him and blinked owlishly. He turned to the right and Estel followed his gaze to see Elladan cleaning his saddle. The twins looked at him in shock; indeed, it was rare for Estel to visit this place. "Can we help you, Brother?" they asked.

"I cannot find Father, and I must speak with him." He pressed himself against the wall and lingered by the door. He could feel a thin sheen of sweat covering his face and longed to be outside again. To his left, a horse whinnied -- he could see it stick its massive gray head against the stall door and lunge forward. Estel squealed and backed away. The horse watched him oddly.

"We last saw him in the library," Elrohir said. "He told us that you did not take the news well."

Estel flinched. Did all of Rivendell know of his heritage? Had the joke been played against him to everyone's amusement? It seemed likely. He departed without a parting word and headed toward the house. This time, there were servants scurrying through the halls. They confirmed that Elrond was working in the library, and Estel went there at once. He saw his father reading from a small, recently-written book. The leather on the cover was new and undamaged. Estel sat on the floor in front of him and said angrily, "Tell me, Father, of this girl I am to know about."

Elrond said nothing for a long moment, then folded the book closed and looked at Estel. "I see Arwen has found you before Glorfindel had found her." He handed Estel the book he had been reading and the human glanced at it. There was a horse etched onto the tooled leather. "Estel, this is the most woeful news that I was to tell you this morn." He maintained his equanimous composure as he spoke. "The book in your hand is a history of Rohan." Elrond trusted that Estel knew of Rohan. Estel felt mitigated with this display of confidence. "By no means is it complete, nor was it written by the Rohirrim."

Estel stared at in confusion. He eyed his father warily. "Fengel is the last recorded ruler listed here, for he was in power when this was written. However, his son Thengel is now king." Estel wondered what this had to do with him. "Thengel is married, and has one daughter and one son." Estel started to feel anxious. It was not like his foster-father to be so circuitous. Elrond continued after much thought. "They dwelt in Gondor for some time, and have a like for the people there. Actually, Estel, the queen, Morwen, is in fact from Gondor." Here was his father's true direction, Estel realized suddenly.

". . . Father?" he said after another lengthy pause.

"As much as you should receive the winged crown of Gondor, it is not to be. It is rightfully yours, but no kingdom will have an unfit ruler. They will not accept your loss of hearing and allow you to take the throne." Estel felt his chest grow heavy. He knew this to be true. "You are the last in the line that can assume the throne and be the hope of men." Estel felt his words inflame his body. "For now," Elrond whispered as an afterthought, yet Estel could still read it on his lips. "There is naught to be done for this, my son, and I am sorry that I could not protect you and keep you until you could claim the throne. Not even a missive from Manwë would make them accept you." Estel felt the words strike him deftly.

"There would be hope, Estel, for your _son_ to assume the throne and to fulfill this destiny." Elrond's words filled Estel with some strange emotions.

"My son?" he asked, if only to be sure that he had read the correct word.

Elrond nodded slowly. "I have sent a letter to Thengel. He has replied and agreed. Through barter, you and his wife, Morwen of Lossarnach, will produce an heir to be raised in this house until ready to fulfill this destiny."

------ 

Don't run away! I promise it's not a romance fic! Happy ending in epilogue! Happy ending in epilogue!

Next update: Wednesday, November 10, 2004 


	10. Chapter Nine : 2954

2718  
BS  
Friday, July 23, 2004  
Sunday, July 25, 2004

Disc: Lord of the Rings and all its characters, places, plot, etc. belong to other people. Too many to list them all. No infringement intended. Not claiming it as my own . . . not that it really matters. -sigh-  
Warn: lol – sex! (But nothing even remotely graphic). AU-ness, of course.  
Note: Hah ha! Oh ho oho ho. Umm . . . hahaha. It's just one of those fics. Hahaha.  
By far, the hardest chapter to write. Nearly killed me, it did.

Ephemeral

chapter nine

Estel sat in the dimly lit room, waiting for the Queen to join him. The road had been long to Rohan. He had been drugged most of the way, too tense to ride a horse. Instead, Elladan had sat behind him and held him upright as they traveled. It was a blur to him, just an unpleasant dream of being bounced and jostled on horseback. He did not remember much of their arrival, either. His father had been greeted at the palace walls by several guards. He had followed in a straight line with his brothers behind him to the throne room. There, they had met Thengel. And his wife. He could remember little of her through his drugged haze. She was tall and dark-haired. She stood proudly next to her king and welcomed them with frigidity. 

Introductions had been made, and he had been gawked at by the assembly. The room had been nearly-empty -- only a few of Rohan's people in attendance. Supper had been light, a mockery of a family meal. There had been a small blond boy at the table, as well as a girl older by only a few years. They had stared at the Elves -- and Estel, as well -- throughout the dinner. Luckily, no one spoke to him. He had stared at his food in silence, too sick to eat. Dinner had passed by with polite civilities until he was brought to a room and slept that night and most of the next morning. The next day he had been feeling more like himself and wandered through the palace of Edoras -- the Golden Hall. He had been very disappointed with the lack of books.

He'd eaten a light lunch with his brothers, who were not enjoying their time there. The blond boy had been watching them from behind the door, and Estel had almost walked into him. He had tried to remember the boy's name -- Theoden, he thought it was -- while the blond boy had stood in front of him with an upturned face. He couldn't have been older than six years. The boy had spoken in Sindarin, and had asked Estel if he were really deaf. Estel had not answered him. After that, his brothers had wandered away, and he had retreated to his assigned room.

There were horses and pictures of horses everywhere. They made him nervous. He pulled heavy drapes across his window and sulked in the dark by candlelight until meals were called. He did not see Morwen for several days. On his fifth day in Rohan, Elrond had brought him a drink. It was pink, chalky, and smelled like an emetic. He had choked it down, and afterwards Elrond revealed that it was a fertility concoction. "To help with a male heir," he had said. The drink had been sent to him every night after supper until he was to do something to Morwen.

In truth, Estel wasn't sure what he was to be doing. He had read books -- which had been sketchy and full of euphemisms -- to little avail. Desperate, he had asked his brothers. They had stammered that Elves did not speak so openly of creating children. An Elf only married once, and never 'practiced' or 'learned' on anyone. Finally, he had turned to his father. Elrond broke down the mechanics of the act, but did not give many details. "Morwen is experienced. You will not have problems," he had said. The words had left Estel with a tight throat and heavy heart. Still, he did not know how personal the meeting would be. Was he to romance her? Or were they just to get it over with?

On the tenth day in Rohan, he had learned more of the barter. Rohan would supply Morwen, who was of high Númenórean descent, to bear an heir for Estel. In return, Elrond would perform some service of healing. What else was in the bargain, he was not sure. Everyone had been strangely tightlipped on the matter. He had been told this, though, by Thengel in a private meeting. He had warned Estel against a variety of misdeeds said so quickly and so surlily that he could not read all of them. He could sense that although Thengel had agreed to the arrangement, he was not pleased with it. From what little he had seen of his wife, he could assume that she was even less so. She avoided him whenever possible, and he had only seen her for the evening meals.

After seventeen days, he had been told that the _event_ was to happen in the next week. Elrond had been monitoring Morwen, waiting for the best time. This had increased Estel's anxiety. He paced the floors and hid in his room as often as he could. "This is repugnant," he had told his brothers when they came to sit with him. "I am being forced to -- " he could not give it a name. His head hurt every time he thought of it.

"No one is forcing you, Estel," Elrohir had said. His brother had given him a forced smile. "Father did give you a choice, did he not?"

"It is for the good of mankind," Elladan had said before Estel could answer.

"I do not want a child." It distressed him to think that he would bring a child into the world. He knew that he would never hear the baby cry. He would never hold it -- could not bear to do so knowing that the child would leave him after all too soon a time and ride to danger. He knew that the life was long for the people of his kind. He also knew that his child -- a son, most likely -- would probably be cut down in his youth. Elrond had told him that the baby was to be raised in Rivendell, and Estel had not been pleased. He felt terrible enough with only the knowledge that he spawned an heir with no love involved -- he did not love its mother, barely even knew her. He was not sure if he could bear to be in the child's life, watching it grow and then leave. He could not be its father -- could not teach it the things fathers taught sons. He would not be the one to teach the baby to speak. He would not hear its first words or be able to listen to its puerile chatter.

He looked up as the door opened and the queen entered. He regarded her with fixed eyes. She was taller, by far, than her husband or any of the men he had seen in this country. She was dark-haired and fair-skinned. A gown of a mauve silk hung from her shoulders and was pinned at the bust with a golden horse head brooch. She was barefoot, her white feet contrasting with the stone floors beneath them. She wore no jewelry nor any adornment to mark her position as Thengel's wife. She stood in the doorway, watching him and assessing him. The candlelight flickered on the walls and across their faces. Estel rose immediately and bowed low in front of her. She did not move. He stepped backward and turned to the low table that had been set in the room. He pulled back a small chair and held his hand against it. Finally, Morwen stepped into the room and shut the door behind her. She walked slowly to the table and sat in the offered chair. Estel bowed again and sat opposite of her. Earlier in the day, Elrond had told him how to behave for their private supper and to treat the lady accordingly.

Hands shaking, Estel poured the wine. He filled her glass partially, then his own. He uncovered a plate and folded his hands in his lap. She watched him with a raised eyebrow and then sipped her wine. He raised his own goblet to his lips and let the flavor hit his tongue. The bold red wine tingled in his mouth and made his head swim. He set the goblet aside and cut a piece of the venison on his plate. He nibbled at the meat and chewed it well before swallowing. He did not much feel like eating. He was sure that the meal was delectable, but he could taste little of it in his nervous state. To his surprise, he saw Morwen ate little. She was looking at him questioningly as she chewed her meat. With eye contact finally made, she swallowed and said, "I have heard you speak with your Elven family throughout your time here. I was in doubt that you were truly disabled." She sipped from her wine.

"Milady . . . ?" he asked. Why would he lie about such an unfortunate, crippling condition?

"Lord Elrond has informed me that you are able to _see_ what is spoken, provided you look at me." She set her fork on her plate. "This is true?"

"Yes, milady." Estel picked up his wine glass and drank a large gulp.

They sat in silence for long minutes, watching each other in the candlelight. At length she said, "You are not what I had imagined when my husband came to me with the proposal of Lord Elrond." She poured wine into her glass. "How old are you, Aragorn?"

He felt an involuntary flinch at the title, then said, "I am twenty-three, milady." She seemed surprised, and studied him again. He did not ask for her age -- it would be too ill-mannered. He could look at her and tell that she was older than he, although her face was fair and youthful. Estel was not sure what would be appropriate conversation with this woman. He did not want to offend her. "Have you lived here long, your majesty?" he asked.

She smiled pleasantly. "Nay, I have not. I lived in Lossarnach with my father after leaving Belfalas by the coast. I married Thengel in Gondor, and we only moved here when the King died." She then said, "Have you ever been to Gondor?"

Estel felt himself blushing. How shameful it was for the heir of a kingdom never to set foot in his own country. "No, I have not," he said at last with his head bowed. A tense silence followed. He broke it at last with an indirect gaze at the brooch on her chest. "Rohan is a lovely place." He glanced into her gray eyes to find amusement.

"It is," she said. "The people here have a love for horses that seems almost . . ." she searched for a word. "Supernatural." She drank from her glass. "It is a connection that you seem to be averse to."

He didn't reply until it became clear she was expecting some type of response. "I do not like horses," he said at last.

An elegantly arched eyebrow rose speculatively. "Why?"

Estel debated ignoring her. The question had been rude, and it was not polite to badger a political guest. However, he wanted the night to go as smoothly as possible. "When I was a child," he said. "I was hurt by a horse. She stepped on me."

Morwen pondered this. "You were not too terribly hurt from this. Have you never liked them since?"

Estel shook his head. "I never had a chance. I . . . nearly died of it, and I've never heard since then." His chest was tight and there was a lump in his throat as he spoke. He did not like this subject. He did not like telling people of his accident. In Rivendell, everyone knew of his deafness and the cause. No one mentioned it, and he was able to think of happier times without being reminded.

Morwen looked suddenly different, Estel realized. Where before, she had been cold, yet polite, she was now looking at him with concern. Her lips were pressed into a thin line and her hair fell over her shoulders and arms in waves of sable. The mauve gown was bunched at her sleeves, and the lace at the sleeves was crinkled. She seemed suddenly more real. He felt as though the mannequin that had been sitting in front of him had sprung to life. She was silent, and said no more of the subject.

The candle had nearly burned to the candlestick when she spoke again. "I had imagined someone older and more . . . libidinous." She smiled slightly. "You are still a child." She crossed her arms in front of her. "Do you even know what you are to be doing?"

"I have basic instructions." His face was red with embarrassment.

She laughed merrily, then stood. Estel stumbled to stand and pushed his chair as well as her own under the table. He turned to look at her and saw that she had removed the brooch from her gown. The frill at the collar was scrunched. With Estel watching, she unlaced her sash -- he hadn't even realized that she had been wearing one, for it was only a shade darker than the gown -- and it fell into her hand. She set it on the back of her chair. The gown hung loosely from her shoulders. She started to slip it off, then seemed to change her mind. She walked to Estel and took his hand as she led him to the bed. Standing in front of it, she unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his shirt. She slid it from his broad shoulders and folded it over her arm. She motioned for him to remove his boots while she set his clothing on the chair. When she turned again, he saw that she was frowning. Striding back to the bed, she hooked her fingers over each side of the waist of his trousers and pulled down. He felt his whole body blush crimson and he crossed his arms in front of his chest. She tugged at the fabric, and he stepped out of each leg. Fully nude before her, he felt his cheeks burning as she looked him over.

Her hand fluttered at the collar of her dress and she slipped it over her shoulders. It landed on the floor and she stepped out of the fabric. She knelt and retrieved the garment, then took it to the chair. Estel looked her over, admiring the shine of her tresses in the candlelight. Her skin was milky-white all over, and her limbs were very fair. He kept his eyes focused on her shoulder as she turned and walked to the table. He saw her hand reach for the candle snuffer, then the light flickered out.

In the darkness, he stood by the bed. He couldn't see well. There was only the torchlight coming in under the door. After a few seconds, he felt a touch against his arm. Her fingers were warm and he felt something cold thrust into his hand. He wondered what it was, but could not ask. In the darkness, he could not see lip movements. The aroma of the wine suddenly struck his nose, and he drained the glass in one swallow. In the dark, he was deaf and blind with a stranger. He had seldom felt more defenseless. The goblet fell from his hand, but he did not know where it went. He felt the warm touch against his shoulder and then a firm pressure.

He sat down on the bed and felt Morwen sit on top of him. She pressed her warm body against his own, and then leaned forward. He felt the pillow hit his neck, and then Morwen lying more fully on him. She ran her hands over his arms, then across his shoulders. He suddenly felt something warm and wet against his mouth, and he realized that she was kissing him. He returned it as best he could, then the sensation was gone. He felt more touches against his abdomen, then a hand against his. She brought his hand forward and held it to her chest. He could feel the smooth skin of her chest under his palm. His heart was beating wildly in his chest. She kissed his forehead, then rubbed her hands lower and lower on his body while he did the same to her. He pulled her closer as she guided him through the night. He was grateful that she was so understanding.

------ 

Now, I will defend my decision. This is the last we see of Morwen, who is a real character, who really is of Númenórean descent. I picked her for that reason, and the added trauma of the whole Rohan thing. It's a smart move to have neighboring kingdoms ruled by half-brothers (Theoden on one side and Aragorn's son on the other.) Or, at least it could be. I don't know if Elves would really care what a human boy or married woman did. They don't seem to be the type to get upset if women do the cooking (something female Elves do not do, except for bread.) That may not seem like a good comparison, but laws and customs of the Eldar are laws and customs of the Eldar. 

There's one chapter and the epilogue left, so . . . 

next update --- Monday, November 15, 2004. 


	11. Chapter Ten : 3018

2723  
BS  
Sunday, July 25, 2004  
Tuesday, July 27, 2004

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all its characters, places, plot, etc. belong to other people. Too many to list them all. No infringement intended. Not claiming it as my own . . . not that it really matters. -sigh-  
Warnings: Drama, AU-ness.  
Notes: Hah ha! Oh ho oho ho. Umm . . . hahaha. It's just one of those fics. Hahaha.  
Ack! The dreaded OC. But, no fears, he is not a main character and I'm getting him out of the way as soon as possible.

Ephemeral

chapter ten 

The noon bell chimed, and Estel looked out his window. He knew that the chime had sounded because there were more people suddenly on the grounds. Over the years, he had trained himself to have an _awareness _of the time. He could not see the council itself, but there were no people leaving the area. He sighed and returned to his bed, wondering what was happening. Things had been chaotic in Rivendell over the past two weeks. Word had come that Mithrandir had disappeared, then riders were sent out to look for a hobbit -- a very special hobbit, by the look of it. Mithrandir had suddenly appeared, grim-faced and worried. Days later, Glorfindel and other Elves had ridden in with a wounded _creature_. He had not recognized it for a hobbit at first -- so wraith-like it had appeared. Elrond had spent hours treating the halfling, and he had barely lived. Estel had looked in on it once -- the pale skin, like wax, the curly dark hair. It was a simple creature dressed quaintly and with an innocent face. There had been another with him at his bedside, and this halfling had been very rude to him -- had even asked if he worked for the Enemy! Estel had only known the one hobbit, Bilbo, and only from a distance. His personal experience was lacking, and he did not trust everything he had read in books to decide his judgement on the people.

Estel did not understand the strange guests his father brought into their home. Wizards, dwarves, and hobbits -- as his son had told him they were called -- all came and went as was their wont. He did not understand his son's fascination with them, either. He knew that Anarion was exposed to the world -- cultured in his time with the Rangers. On his seldom visits home, the man spoke in odd tongues and always had new wounds for Lord Elrond to doctor. There was a rift between Estel and the man. When the baby had been brought to Rivendell -- three months old -- Estel had ignored his misgivings and loved it anyway. He had held it and named it, and had done his best to raise it. Elrond and Elrohir and Elladan and Arwen did not treat this boy as they had treated him. They were kind to him, but they did not claim him as part of the family. There was a certain respect and fear that Estel knew he felt toward the Elves. He was distant and practically leapt at the chance to join his Ranger kindred in the North. Anarion had told him once that he could not enjoy time spent with his unlearned father, a man who tried to be an Elf and spent his time reading books. Estel had been hurt. He had never been able to see the world. He hoped, once his son took up the crown, that he could travel through the land. Presently, the roads were too dangerous.

The men of the land called his son 'Lastblood,' which was their translation for the name his son had taken to be a stealthy Ranger. It seemed as though everywhere the boy went he came back with a new title. He seemed to relish in his many aliases, though, and was fond of the peculiar looks he received when comrades addressed him in front of strangers. When the boy -- his sixty-three-year-old son -- took the throne, Estel knew that his name would be forever cemented as Anarion II. He would be a strong leader. He had the power to command his subjects. His half-brother, Theoden, ruled Rohan and would make a valuable ally. All of Middle-earth would be united. Presently, though, his son was in his father's council. Something important was happening with the creature -- hobbit, he reminded himself. His father had been grave-faced, and had sent his brothers on important errandry. 

Estel stretched on the bed, then decided to leave his room. The day was wasting away. He met Arwen in the Hall of Fire, and she smiled at him broadly. He had gone there to think, but no harm would come of speaking with her. "The day seems to be somber," he said. He sat on the floor by her feet and gazed into the fire.

"Indeed," she said once he turned back to her. "They discuss the fate of the world while we brood." She glanced along the room, then told him conspiratorially, "You know what Frodo Baggins brought, do you not?"

"Baggins?" he repeated. "As in Father's guest that lurks around and never speaks with me?" He did not know the hobbit well. Had only been introduced to him a few years prior.

"Frodo is the nephew or cousin of that one. I am not certain." She glanced around the room again, but it was empty. "He brings _the One Ring_ with him." Estel's eyes widened and he drew a sharp breath. He knew of the Ring, and was shocked that it had been so easily taken into his home. "What is more," Arwen was saying, "is strange things are happening in the East. No doubt Father will discuss this with you. I will not, even here in the sanctuary of our own home." He realized as she spoke that she was not speaking. She was moving her lips in the imitation of words, but he knew with sudden clarity that there was no sound. Her eyes were worried, the gray of the irises shining like snow. There was a strain on her face, and she leaned closely to him to speak.

"These are grave tidings, Sister," he said. The tension seemed to linger, and he eased away from her presence. He rose. "I need to speak with Father." He bowed in farewell, and then left the room. Arwen had turned back to the fire, her lovely figure hunched as she looked into the flames.

He left the hall and wandered through the dining hall. It was still set for many guests. There would be another meal there that night, he knew. He considered taking his dinner in his rooms. The dwarves made him uncomfortable. The hobbits made him nervous. There was a Man there, though, from Gondor. Estel wanted to see him and to observe how the nobility of Gondor behaved. He dismissed the idea of dining alone, then headed for the outside. There were Elves standing against his father's council room. They nodded politely to Estel, and he walked by them. The situation was indeed grave if it merited guards. There was a shadow on the valley. The sky was overcast.

He wandered through the valley throughout the day, admiring the beauty that surrounded him. Arwen's words had troubled his heart. He wished to speak with his father about his concerns, but the Council of Elrond would mostly likely continue far into the evening. He had known for many years that the time of the Elves in Middle-earth was waning. He had always been secure in his knowledge, though, that he would die before his family left. Now, the distant future in which the Ring was found and Sauron was in pursuit of it was a startling reality. His family would sell West, to their true home, and he would be abandoned in Middle-earth. Ideally, his son would be king of Gondor and Arnor, and he would not be completely alone. His son would provide a home for him; he would always have a place to go. He wouldn't complain, though. He would accept this new phase of his life with all the dignity appointed to him as the king's father. He had had more than eighty idyllic years with his Elven family, living in peace in Rivendell.

He wondered what would become of this place when all the Elves deserted it. Would Men claim it as their own? Or would it simply wither away and pass out of knowledge? He knew that it was foolish to hope that his home would remain untouched by the ravages of time, but the thought remained deep in his heart. It would burden him terribly to see the structure crumble, and he was thankful that he would not last long enough for it to finally fade. When he left with his son, he would never return to Rivendell again.

The sun was set by the time he wandered back into the valley. He felt safe there, even in the blinding dark. Evil did not come into his home. He blinked at that thought. Was not the One Ring evil? The thought troubled him, and he tried to think of lighter thoughts. He had missed supper, he learned when he drifted into the kitchen. A plate had been set aside for him. He washed and carried it to his room, then sat on the bed and ate. The food tasted bland for some reason. He ate dutifully, and drank long from his flagon. He had picked up a fondness for red wine after the sojourn to Rohan. He liked the taste of it, the scent, and the headiness that engulfed him with every gulp.

He left his plate and flagon on the trunk at the foot of his bed. He left the room, and wearily returned an hour later, freshly bathed. He slept in a long white gown, hair brushed neatly and shoes waiting by his bedside. He slept with only the thinnest of blankets tossed over his prostrate form. The moonlight was shining gaily through his window and cast his room in a lavender haze.

Next morning, he rose from the bed and dressed. He was early for breakfast, and waited by the small table for his family to begin trickling into the room. His brothers had returned, and they seemed to harbor some grim air about them. They spoke not of it, merely asked him of his health. Elrond entered next, and after him was Arwen. Glorfindel had other business -- sometimes he breakfasted with them, sometimes he did not. Estel's son did not share family meals. They ate solemnly, their individual thoughts darkened with the current situation. "Have you heard of what transpired yesterday?" his father asked him.

Estel shook his head. "Nay, Father. I wandered the day under the sun, and hours into the night under the stars. I feel, though, that the news is worse than I have feared." He smiled grimly.

"Indeed, my son. Come, we will discuss this further." They departed from the table and headed straight to Elrond's private chambers. There, they sat at a small table and Elrond poured them miruvor. "The Shadow is dark upon the land, Estel." He said at length. His eyes strayed to the East, but he kept his face turned to the deaf boy. He said, "You know what threat the Enemy poses. You also know what has been brought here, no doubt." His cool gray eyes flickered back to Estel for affirmation. Estel nodded. "We have decided that it is to be destroyed. Anarion will take part in this task, until he turns aside and rides to Gondor."

Estel felt his heart grow suddenly heavy. This had been his fear and his dread. He had watched his son grow and become a man with this thought always in his mind. _He rides to his death_. They would take the Ring to Mordor to destroy, he knew. His son would not even go that far. Instead, he would stray from the path and ride to war in Gondor. His throat was constricting at the thought. He doubted that he would ever see his child again. "I understand," he said at last. "This is the destiny that I was meant to take. Instead, I sit as a coward in this haven, waiting for the war to be decided rather than fighting in it."

Elrond looked weary. "There is naught to be done for it. Have faith in your child, Estel." He paused and seemed to be gathering his thoughts. "You should not feel unfair for this. I hesitate to tell you, but you were born for this very purpose."

Estel met his gaze solidly. "I created this child -- with no love for his mother -- so that he could ride off to danger. His sole purpose for being born was to further the line." His gray eyes were glowing with heat as he spoke. "How is this the same?!"

Elrond looked away to the West. His eyes closed and he breathed deeply. Estel sat at the table, still unhappy from the day's news. "I had thought it wise that you not know, for it would only bring you pain," he said when he turned back to Estel. "There has been much pain in your life, I know." Estel's eyes narrowed and he stared at his father's face. "In truth, my son, your mother did not wish to marry when she wed your father." The words struck him with torment. "She felt herself too young to be tied down to a husband and child. Her parents told her, though, that your father would not live out the long years of his blood."

Estel was quiet for a long time, his eyes closed and head turned down. He could not be sure how much time had passed. Eventually, he opened his eyes and looked for a long time at Elrond's kind face. "There was no love between them?" he asked at last.

Elrond's face suddenly changed expressions, and he looked as though he were contemplating a new thought. "I know not that there was no love between them. She seemed grieved when word came that he had been slain."

Estel closed his eyes again and kept them shut for a long time. When he opened them, it was as though he had awoken from a deep sleep. Elrond was gone from the room, and twilight was growing over the land. He sat under the starry sky, thinking of what he had learned. There was a great weight suddenly on his chest, and the air was stifling. He sat motionlessly for many minutes, staring up at the large moon. Then, he went straight to his bed and threw himself upon the soft mattress. He slept in his day clothing, without any blankets or supper.

The days and weeks passed quickly afterward. Riders set out from Rivendell, then returned again. His son among them, they spent little time together. All too soon, the day the Company would set out was quickly approaching. There was a heavy air in Rivendell. The lightness and good spirits that had once been so commonplace in the valley had been smothered with the gloom that permeated the area. Before they left, his son came to him and hugged him for many long minutes in the privacy of the library. He held him close and promised that he would see his father again. The next day, the Company departed. Estel watched them as they crossed the bridge, then climbed winding roads that led out of the vale. He watched them until they turned a bend and disappeared from sight.

He ate a light supper. There was no talking. Afterward, he set a chair in front of his window and gazed into the south until darkness took over the land. He drifted into an uneasy sleep. He awoke several times during the night. There was a cold chill in the air. The stars glinted in the sky above him. The moon was a mere sliver in the air, hanging low above the mountains.

He stripped and walked to his bed. Under the blankets, he lay awake. His thoughts were dark. The chill that was in the air seemed intent on keeping him awake. He could see the stars twinkling in the darkness outside of his room. There was a pillow scrunched under his neck, and it pressed uncomfortably against his bones. He turned onto his side and thought about his child. Poor Anarion, the only child of Morwen to share her likeness. She had been dead for many years, as had Thengel. He wondered what it would have been like if she had loved and married him as she had her husband. The thought left him feeling empty, and he unconsciously rolled onto his other side. He was facing the south, and he knew that his son walked in that direction. He wondered if he would ever see the man again. He knew that dark perils lay on the road from Rivendell to Gondor. There were even more on the road to Mordor. He knew that his son was not to walk that path, but there was uncertainty when he thought of it. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, praying that his child would be spared.

-------

Final update: Wednesday, November 17, 2004 


	12. Epilogue : 3021

3131  
BS  
Wednesday, July 28, 2004  
Thursday, July 29, 2004

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all its characters, places, plot, etc. belong to other people. Too many to list them all. No infringement intended. Not claiming it as my own . . . not that it really matters. -sigh-  
Warnings: More drama and AU-ness.  
Notes: Hah ha! Oh ho oho ho. Umm . . . hahaha. It's just one of those fics. Hahaha.  
_The End, at long last_.

Ephemeral

epilogue 

The East-West road was hard under his feet. He hadn't been on this road for nearly eighty years, but necessity demanded it. He walked next to Lindir, who kept his eyes firmly fixed on the West. Estel's father and siblings rode on great gray horses ahead of him. He would have journeyed with them, but he could not bear to walk next to the steeds. In a long string of shimmering faces and graceful bodies, the Elves were leaving Middle-earth. This would be their final flight. The Elves only stopped when their horses tired. They walked in waking dreams. There could have been music, Estel thought. Many of his companions seemed to be moving to some unknown rhythm.

Estel felt a certain sense of contentment. There was peace in Middle-earth. The Enemy's power was broken, his son was on the throne of Gondor, and everything had turned out for the best. He had finally been able to see Minas Tirith. The White City had taken his breath away, and he was looking forward to spending many long years there. He had seen his son's coronation -- it had been a rather pompous event. Now, Anarion II ruled over the land. The people seemed to be happy. There was the matter of his marriage -- Estel hoped that he could marry out of love. There were none royal or noble that he could wed without violating blood relations. But, there was no shame in marrying out of one's caste. Estel wanted to see the day his son would wed.

He hoped, once the last of the rotten were driven from the land, that he could see Fornost. The thought had never left him, even after all the years he spent in Rivendell. He had long ago realized how foolish he had been in his goal. Still, he would have liked to go there. To see it. He would, he knew -- eventually when the years of his life waned to a close. Then, he would go there. He hoped to die there.

After the coronation, he had returned to Rivendell. His home seemed different -- aged. The antiquity was pressing in the air. The tranquility that he had so enjoyed was gone. All around, the Elves were saying a farewell to the land that had been their home for many ages. As was the way of Elves, they were not rushed in their task. They took their time, walking through the valley and the surrounding lands. Estel did not walk with them. He had begun to feel underfoot again. This was the last of the Elven time in Middle-earth. It was their goodbye, not his own. He had spent the last several weeks before the departure in his room, packing away what he was taking with him to Minas Tirith. He had taken only what meant the most to him. He had despaired when Elrond had told him that Estel's beloved library would be left to rot. Without asking, he had taken his most-read books and had stuffed them in his pack.

He had intended to depart for Minas Tirith as the Elves had left. Then, Arwen had come to him and had asked him to walk with them to the Gray Havens. He had been hesitant. A farewell in Rivendell would be heartbreaking. Just the thought of staying behind in the ruins as he watched his family walk away from him brought tears to his eyes. He wanted to travel south. Elrond and he had sent a letter to Anarion II, telling him of his father's impending arrival. An escort was to be sent past Rohan to meet him on the road. Instead, Arwen wanted him to travel all the way to the Havens, then turn East, then South. He did not want to be on the road alone. Yet, he had agreed. This was his sister. After she sailed West, he would never see her again. She had asked him to spend time with her, and he would not deny her request. Elrohir had told him that he would send a message to the king, telling him of the delay. Estel had never seen a messenger ride south, but he did not doubt his brother's word.

So he had journeyed with them. Oddly, his family made no effort to be with him. After Arwen had asked, and for this sole purpose, they did not seem to care. He kicked mud away from his boots. The Road had changed little since his last visit. It had rained hard throughout the week, and his new black leather boots were being scuffed and worn. The Road seemed lighter, though. When he had been a child, it had been empty, dark, and ominous. Now, the sky was a stunning blue, the grass was green, and the sunlight was shining on his back. The long shadows passed over the road. There were people on the road -- Men, who stopped and stared at them in awe. There were more, working in fields and herding livestock. Estel walked for several days, until he was too exhausted to go on. The Elves did not seem to tire. After stumbling through several miles, he sat down off of the road. The grass was soft under him. Eventually, he felt a touch on his leg. He wearily opened his eyes and turned to see Elrond standing next to him. His father sat next to him and wordlessly entered the strange land of Elven-dreams. Estel slept soundly, not even gazing up at the night sky.

In the morning, they walked steadily until Amon Sûl loomed to the north. Estel stared at it for a long time as he strode to keep up with the travelers. He fought down his emotions as best he could. The sight of the mountain and its jagged teeth on top made forlornness well inside him. Sudden images of the attack he had suffered in its shadow rose to his mind. He could feel every blow landing on him -- the cracked shoulder, the twisted ankle. He hurried onward, not looking at the summit. The days seemed to crawl by as he walked with the departing Elves. He often wondered about their thoughts. For most of them, Middle-earth had always been their home. Only a few were true exiles, departed from across the sea. They walked with an anxious step. Long had they been sundered from their home.

Some of the days blurred into a dim haze. He was aware of walking, of following the Elves in front of him and the ones trailing behind him. There were many that he did not recognize. He knew all the Elves of Rivendell, but they had been joined, before leaving the valley, by the departing Elves of Mirkwood. They ignored him for the most part. He had never been fond of the Elves outside of Rivendell. They did not know him, seldom spoke to him. He felt like an intruder walking among them. They instantly recognized him as a human -- no matter how clean-shaven he made his face, no matter how high he walked on his toes, or how pristine he kept his clothing and hair. They knew without looking at him that he was an imposter. Still, they were not rude to him.

They reached Bree two days later and wound around the town so that they would not walk through the city. They intersected the Greenway, then turned northwest again. Estel did not look at the city. He would not think of his past time there. They walked directly with little rest. Estel's steps were heavy. He was weary of traveling and longed for a good sleep that he had not had in many days. He said as much to Elrohir, who had dismounted and was walking next to him. Elrohir touched his shoulder lightly. "We will be resting soon, Brother." He motioned directly in front of them. "Ahead is an area known as the Shire. We are meeting with the last remnant of our party. Then, it will only be a week before reaching Mithlond." Estel nodded in acknowledgment. He knew that hobbits came from the Shire. He hoped he didn't see any.

They traveled in a blur. If anyone saw them save wildlife, they only noticed a quickly-passing shimmer of light. There were only a few days until they entered the Shire. The sun was high in the sky. The grass was a pale green color. Leaves blew to the ground, dead and crumbling in the autumn breeze. There were songbirds in the trees above him. He could see them hop along the branches. He had a passing notion that the birds were singing a farewell to the Elves, but the idea quickly passed. Still, he wished that he could hear their song. To his right, a roebuck raised its graying red head and watched their movements. Estel watched it for as long as he could until they were past the area.

They passed over slowly-sloping hills. The incline was so gradual that he did not realize that they were climbing until he noticed the slight descent. He kept his eyes focused ahead, drowsily opened. He refused to look back. He would face this same turf on his return journey, and he did not wish to see it again before then. Estel glanced at the trees around him. They were old and intimidating. He tried to keep his thoughts away from their ancient bark, but found that his eyes were continuously drawn to them. He tripped over roots and rocks as he walked, anxious for rest. Elrohir had implied rest once they reached the Shire, but it had yet to come.

At length, they entered a large clearing and began to sit and mingle. Estel leaned against a great oak tree. He nodded into an exhausted sleep. He dreamed briefly of a grove of trees. Moonlight lit them, and he could see an ancient elm tree, an oak of many seasons, and a thin beech sapling. They rose straight from the ground with no alterations. Then, suddenly, the elm's trunk twisted and its broad limbs became gnarled. Bowwood grew at the base of the trees. Estel wandered along the grove. He put his hand against the sapling and could feel its lifeblood inside. The leaves shivered and shook.

Estel awoke with a jerk. He looked around, trying to remember where he was. He rolled his weary shoulders, trying to massage the pain that lingered. There were more Elves in the clearing. They dressed in white, their faces regal. He looked over the area, trying to find his family. His brothers were nowhere to be seen, but he spotted his sister easily. She was standing next to their father and another Elf-lady. Elrond was wearing a gray mantle, his hair braided back majestically. There was a silver circlet on his head, and a bright silver star bound on his brow. The Elf-lady was dressed in flowing white. Golden waves of light cascaded down her back. She was smiling wistfully, her eyes constantly looking over the land. They fell on him, and Estel felt a chill shiver down his back. He had seen her before, from somewhere. She smiled at him with knowing eyes, and he was forced to look away.

They rested there the rest of the day and into the night. In the morning, the Elves readied their mounts and stood around the clearing. They appeared to be waiting for something, ears and eyes searching the woods. Estel stood next to his sister, who had not yet gone to her palfrey. She smiled at him sweetly and then her face lit up. Around him, he noticed several Elves singing lightly. Elrond was holding a small silver harp, playing it faintly. Estel looked up suddenly and saw two ponies approaching them. He recognized them as the hobbits that had visited Rivendell a few years before. There was a commotion to his right, and he saw for the first time that the old hobbit Bilbo was among them -- had been among them for some time. There were greetings and words exchanged among them. When the Elves spoke to the hobbits, it was in Westron. Estel ignored their conversations and after a time the party started walking again. The hobbits rode in the front of the procession.

They kept the same steady pace, and crossed over a series of low hills, the White Downs. There was a flat space, and then more hills -- the Far Downs. The undulating terrain was only barely noticed. He could see a low rise, and the Elves going over it. And then they disappeared and he climbed the hill and saw them walking up another one. This continued for three days, and then they left the downs behind and crossed tall hills. Once the hills were behind him, he looked forward. The land was suddenly flat. There was a smell of water on the air. The sun was setting, and the light shined directly into his eyes. He closed them into a squint, and walked blindly, trusting himself not to fall on his own feet. They traveled over the seemingly endless flat land into the night. They stopped in the darkness and rested -- the horses were looking very weary. Estel lay awake that night, thinking and watching the stars. In the morning, it would be one full week since meeting with the hobbits. He had studied maps well and knew that they were very close to Mithlond -- the Gray Havens.

His thoughts were confirmed by midmorning of the next day. The smell of water grew strong, and then he could smell nothing else. A wide body of water opened up before them. He stood staring at it for a long time, and then tears sprang from his eyes. He had never wanted to see this -- his last farewell to the people who had raised him and loved him. He would be lost without them. He hastily wiped the tears away with his sleeve. It would do no one good to cry.

They came at last to the Havens, and Estel looked at it dispassionately. It seemed rather plain compared to the majesty of his home in Rivendell. There was a great white ship on the water, though, and it took his breath away. He glanced at the assembly of Elves in his company. Were they all to fit upon it? No, he realized and saw smaller gray ships behind it. They were greeted by an Elf that Estel had never seen before. He was gray-haired, and had a beard. He stared at him, perplexed while he spoke to Elrond and Galadriel. Elves were _not_ supposed to have beards. As they spoke, Estel saw Mithrandir standing there, next to the ship. He felt almost saddened by the knowledge. All of the great were passing from Middle-earth forever.

Two hobbits suddenly came riding to them. They shouted to their hobbit compatriots and began making solemn goodbyes. Estel thought of how he would make his own farewells. Sobbing, no doubt. Words would be useless to him, perhaps a long hug or a kiss. They certainly would miss him only a little. They were departing to the bliss across the sea, and would not need the sorrowing thoughts of little deaf Estel trapped in his own mortality. He felt the sting of his tears and rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve. There had been no purpose but pain in cavorting with his family on their sojourn to Mithlond. He reminded himself that he should have traveled south immediately.

Bleary-eyed, he watched with a heavy heart as the Elves began filling the boats. He looked at each of them as they departed, trying to feel blessed that he had seen an event that would never happen again. It took hours to move all of the Elves into the boats, but they were not rushed. They did not look back to the shore, or at least not at him. The hobbits boarded hastily, and he stood a short distance from the three that were being left behind. They had each other for comfort. Estel had no one.

At long last, only his father and siblings remained. They walked to Estel and Elrond put his hand on his shoulder. Estel felt the tears flow freely then. Elladan and Elrohir moved to stand behind him and put their hands on his shoulders. Arwen stood to his right and firmly held his hand in hers. They were saying something to him -- could see their faces moving in speech -- but he could not read what was said. His shoulders shook as he sobbed, and it took him a moment to realize that they were walking towards the ship.

He wiped his eyes on his very wet sleeve, and kept them open long enough to look at Arwen, who was tugging on his arm. "You have known, Brother, that this time was approaching. There is little need for tears, for soon we will leave the sorrows of this realm behind us." She was smiling softly.

They were pushing him as she spoke towards the ship. His feet were nearly to the edge of the docks. "This sorrow you shall forget in the Undying Lands," Elrond said.

"I . . . do not understand." As he spoke, they were on the incline to board the ship.

And then he was on the ship, looking bewildered.

"You are accompanying us West, Brother," one of the twins said.

"There was some sort of arrangement. The details have already been worked out," the other replied.

"But . . . ?" He looked back to the shore. Where there had been only three hobbits before, now stood a taller figure. He realized that it was his son, hand held high in farewell. His mind was spinning -- how could they take him to Valinor? He turned and saw the Elf-lady standing to the side. She smiled at him warmly and the doubts fizzled from his heart.

Middle-earth was his home. He loved it and had never thought of leaving it until his death. There was much there that he still wanted to do and see. Yet . . . he loved his family more than the land. Without them, home was not home. He was unsure if he would truly be permitted into Aman. He would try, though. He turned back to the shore and stared at the little figures until they became mere blurs in the distance. Then, he turned to the West and watched the orange of the setting sun light the water. He closed his eyes and thought he saw that the world was silver. There were green rolling hills and white shores. The sunlight was wonderful, and the moon was large in the sky. His heart warmed at the thought.

----------

Ephemeral _adjective_. Lasting or living for a very short time. 

Our days begin with trouble here;  
Our lives are but a span,  
And cruel death is always near,  
So frail a thing is man.  
(From the New England Primer)

After the loss of his hearing, can a deaf Estel still fulfill his destiny? AU.

Time for long-winded author notes? Not really. Just a few short ones. I enjoyed writing it. I got a lot of my details and facts from History of Middle-earth, Volume XII, I think it was. Oh -- and Unfinished Tales. I tried to keep it more or less on track. I hope someone enjoyed reading it. I thank all my reviewers, but especially grumpy (who reviewed every chapter). Thank you, very much.


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